Blood Moon
by blucougar57
Summary: Follow on story from 'Deliverance'. A string of murders outside the NYPD's jurisdiction raises unwanted memories for Goren and Eames. Finished.
1. Dejavu

Rating: M, for emotional trauma. I don't know yet whether there will be physical violence ensuing in this story (that is, perpetrated on our favourite detectives), but I like to play it safe.

Disclaimer: The standard. I don't own any of the characters relating to Law & Order: Criminal Intent, or A Touch of Frost. I just like messing with them. I'm just a poor sap on minimum wage. Don't sue, you can't get blood out of a stone. Not in this reality.

Author's note: Continuing on with mypenchant for cross-overs, this story is a follow-on from 'Deliverance', and focuses primarily around Goren, Eames and Detective Inspector Jack Frost. It's set only a month down the track from the end of 'Deliverance', so trust me when I say there is still plenty of trauma and anxiety for Bobby and Alex to deal with. And yes, this will be a NON-'ship story. Others can pair Bobby and Alex up to their hearts' content. I'm not going down that sordid little path.  
I can't honestly say whether I'll be able to churn this one out quite as fast as 'Deliverance', but I'll do my best.

For anyone not acquainted with Det. Ins. Frost, I'll give you a brief description. He's a hard-nosed British copper, with a penchant for bending (if not breaking) the rules to get a result. He's a work-a-holic, and committed 150 to the job. He's also a grumpy old bugger, who won't take any crap, either from crooks, his subordinates or his idiot Superintendent, one Mr Mullett. He and Goren should get along famously... shouldn't they?

**BLOOD MOON**

* * *

Captain James Deakins stood at the window of his office, looking out into the hub of the Major Case Squad room. It was the official start of the working day, and all the on-duty detectives were just arriving, along with various other staff members. More specifically, though, Deakins was watching for the arrival of two detectives in particular. The clock ticked over to eight-thirty, and right on cue they came around the corner together.

Deakins was unable to suppress a relieved smile as Bobby Goren and Alex Eames entered the squad room. They had been back at work for a month now, and yet he still found himself performing the same anxious ritual every morning. He would stand watching, waiting with progressively worse anxiety until that moment when they would come around the corner and he finally laid eyes on the both of them. Then, and only then, would he be able to relax, at least to a point. It would start up all over again each time they left the building for whatever reason, be it for lunch or to chase up a lead on their current case.

Deakins grimaced a little. He'd taken to calling them regularly when they were out, if only to reassure himself that they were okay. He suspected they were starting to get more than a little irritated with his stifling concern, and he conceded that the ten or more times he'd phoned them throughout yesterday _might_ have been just a little over the top, but he simply couldn't help it.

The counsellor he'd been seeing on an intermittent basis had assured him that the anxiety he felt whenever Goren and Eames were out of the office was normal, and that it would fade with time. Meanwhile, he continued to go through the motions every morning, and through the rest of the day, to reassure himself that they were, indeed, all right.

He paused before returning to his own work, watching with sympathy as Goren and Eames made their way slowly across the floor to their desks.

They were moving with painful slowness, a necessity resulting from the fact that Goren still wore a brace on his right leg (and would have to for another five or six months), and still required the use a walking stick. Goren hated the walking stick with particular vehemence. He had frequently been caught hobbling around the Major Case offices without it, and Deakins had lost track of the number of times he'd chastised Goren over it. Yet, still the detective continued to 'forget it' whenever he left his desk for short periods.

While Eames had not suffered a broken leg, she still limped slightly as a result of the arrow wound to her right thigh. Some of the nerves that had been damaged were still in the process of healing, and caused her more than a little pain and discomfort every now and again. Also, her left arm was still enclosed in a full length brace, to protect the badly damaged limb while it slowly recovered to full strength.

Both detectives were still undergoing fairly intensive physiotherapy for their injuries; two to three times a week for Eames, and every second evening for Goren.

It was over five months now since the dramatic events that had seen two of New York's best detectives abducted and nearly murdered by a sadistic serial killer; five months since they had literally been rescued from the jaws of death. He, along with virtually every employee that worked in One Police Plaza, was only too aware of just how close Goren and Eames had come to losing their lives. Truth be told, he was still having nightmares about it.

Deakins paused, watching with a small smile as they finally reached their desks, and the same scene that had played itself out every morning since their return to work played out once more.

Goren helped Eames remove her jacket, something that was no easy task for her, with her arm in the stiff brace. Then, after he'd hung up both her jacket and his own, she pulled his chair out for him and helped him to sit down without jolting his leg too badly. Then, the act that had really gotten tongues wagging, and had nearly sent their ADA into an apoplexy the first time it happened.

Eames leaned down and kissed Goren gently on the cheek. He responded by grasping her hand, and drawing her in close for a brief but affectionate hug. After a moment, she gently extricated herself from his embrace, and sat down in her own seat, ready to begin the day.

Deakins was grinning almost before he realised it. Before their abduction by Mathers, Goren and Eames had been models of professionalism. There had been no touching between them, _ever_, unless it was purely professional, or purely incidental. Now, it was nothing to see them exchanging hugs, or even to witness one of them kissing the other on the cheek, or the forehead. There was nothing romantic about it, as Deakins had stressed to his superiors when they'd voiced their concerns at a recent meeting. Rather, there was a certain sweetness about it, a certain innocence, if that were at all possible for two people who had seen so much… been through so much.

Bobby and Alex were not a couple, not in the romantic sense, but ever since their ordeal on Gore Mountain, they behaved more like twins, completely attuned to each other's frequency in a way that no one else could begin to fathom. He'd watched them interrogating a suspect just the week before, looking on from the observation room as they tag teamed each other, working in tandem as they had never done before. Minutes into the interrogation, they had started finishing off each other's sentences and, in some instances, pre-empting each other entirely. They drove not only the suspect to distraction, but his lawyer as well, and succeeded in getting a full confession within fifteen minutes.

Their ordeal five months ago had permanentlyaltered the dimensions of their relationship, bonding them together in a way that Deakins had never seen before. Where the brass upstairs had demanded a watch be put on the two of them and that they be separated at the first signs of trouble, Deakins had known right from the start that such a measure was unnecessary. Goren and Eames were a danger to no one… unless you counted the criminals they went after. Separating them would be a crime in itself.

Still smiling to himself, Deakins returned to his desk, and got back to work.

* * *

"He was watching us again, wasn't he?" Goren murmured, his attention fixed on booting up his laptop. Eames nodded, a tiny smirk on her face as she sorted through unfinished paperwork from the previous evening.

"Same as every morning. He's starting to get paranoid."

Goren smiled in response.

"I think he was to begin with, but it's getting worse. How many times did he phone us yesterday when we were out of the building? Eleven, or twelve?"

"Fourteen," Eames confirmed. "I checked when I got home last night. And the excuses got lamer as the day went on."

Goren shook his head.

"Next thing we know, he'll be having us put under surveillance."

Eames grunted. "Hell, why doesn't he just save time and have us micro-chipped, with homing beacons implanted in our brains?"

Goren chuckled. "Don't say that too loud. He might hear it, and actually think it's a good idea."

"I hope you two aren't deriding Captain Deakin's concern for your well-being?"

Goren and Eames looked up simultaneously to find Ron Carver standing there, looking less than amused.

"We were only kidding," Eames said defensively. "But you've gotta admit, fourteen phone calls in one day is a bit much."

"Be that as it may," Carver said, looking sternly at the two of them, "I don't think it's very appropriate for you to joking about it. He's gone to considerable trouble to ensure that not only were you able to return to work so soon, but that your partnership wasn't split up. I think you owe it to him to be a little more gracious."

Goren and Eames exchanged annoyed looks, irritated that Carver could lay on the emotional blackmail so smoothly and so easily.

"Can I have the paperwork for the Vasquez case, please?" Carver went on.

"We haven't finished it yet," Eames answered for the both of them. "Can you give us an hour?"

Carver frowned in displeasure.

"You promised you'd have it ready for me first thing this morning."

"Well, we just didn't get it finished last night," Goren muttered, starting to sound as irritated as he felt. Carver shook his head, openly annoyed.

"It really isn't good enough, Detectives. When you promise to finish something important, I do expect you to keep that promise..."

A moment later, Carver started a little in surprise as Goren slammed his hand down hard on the desktop.

"Sorry, Counsellor," he snapped. "Next time, I'll remember to cancel physio, because your precious paperwork is so much more important."

For several seconds, Goren and Carver stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to suffocate. Then, finally, Carver backed down.

"I apologise, Detective Goren. I wasn't aware that you had a physio session last night. I'll come back in an hour or so. Excuse me."

Eames watched him go, then looked back to Goren, who was fuming at the desktop.

"Bobby? You okay?"

"He damn well knows I have to go for physio every second day. Damn it, I hate this! I hate needing special consideration."

"It's not going to be like this forever," Eames murmured. "Just try and be patient, okay? And remember, it's the only way Deakins would agree to let us come back to work."

"I'm going to be in this damned brace for another five months, Alex. That means at least five more months of physiotherapy. It might not be forever, but it sure as hell feels like it."

Eames smiled a little, then, recognising the aggravated tone in his voice for what it was. Opening her desk drawer, she took out a small pill bottle. Goren took one look at the bottle, and shook his head vehemently.

"I don't need those."

Eames emptied two tablets into her hand, and pushed them across the desk to him.

"Shut up, and just take them. Then maybe you'll quit being in such a foul mood."

"Alex, I don't…"

"The hell you don't. You only get this crabby when your leg is really hurting. So take them now, voluntarily, or I'll call Ash and King, and get them to hold you while I personally shove them down your throat."

He glowered at her, though there was no malice in his eyes.

"Traitor."

She merely smirked at him, watching as he scooped up the painkillers and swallowed them dry. Only when she was certain he had actually swallowed them did she return her attention to the pile of paperwork in front of her.

Goren hesitated in starting his share of the pile, watching his partner's bowed head with open affection. After a moment, Eames sensed his gaze on her, and looked up questioningly. He smiled faintly, not the least bit embarrassed at being caught out staring at her.

"Alex…"

"What is it?"

"Thankyou."

She smiled warmly at him, and returned to the work in front of her without speaking. Goren smiled to himself, and lowered his head to start on his own pile of paperwork.

Minutes passed in silence, stretching out to nearly an hour. Eames was just starting on her last report form when Goren's laptop chimed to signify an incoming email. She didn't look up, but continued concentrating on the final report, eager to get it done and out of the way. She had half-finished it when she felt a twinge of unease deep inside her gut. Feeling unsettled, and not knowing why, she looked up at her partner. The expression she saw on his face froze her blood.

His face was the colour of ash, and he was hanging onto the edge of his desk in a death grip. He looked seriously like he was about to throw up.

"Bobby, what's wrong?" she asked tensely. He looked up at her slowly, looking as though he wasn't quite comprehending anything around him.

"I… I need to… Deakins…"

She stood up and walked around to see what had flustered him so badly. On the screen of his laptop was an open email attachment. There was a photo of a severely battered corpse on the screen, seemingly lying where whoever the responsible party was had dumped it. It was not the body that caught her attention, though. It was the multitude of wounds that covered the victim's body; wounds which were all too familiar to the both of them.

Eames wheeled around and almost ran across the floor to Deakins' office, throwing the door open without so much as knocking first.

"Alex…?" Deakins asked, too startled to be annoyed at her for interrupting his meeting with Carver.

"Someone just sent Bobby an email," she told him tensely. "You need to see it, sir. Now."

Deakins was on his feet in an instant, and followed her over to where Goren still sat, staring at his laptop.

"What's this about an email?" Deakins asked. Goren motioned numbly to the screen, saying nothing. Deakins leaned in for a closer look, then swore loudly, drawing bemused looks from a number of other workers.

"What is it?" Carver wondered, not quite sure what the problem was. Deakins spoke grimly.

"It's one of Erik Mathers' victims. Probably one of the eleven that were killed in Florida. He's not one of our five vics."

"So, this is supposed to be someone's idea of a joke?" Carver said.

"If it is a joke, then it's a damned sick one," Deakins growled. "Does it say who it's from?"

"No name," Goren said hoarsely. "Just a generic email address, from one of the online companies that offers free email accounts. But look at the ID… Look at the login."

"Son of the Hunter," Eames read. "It's got to be a joke."

"I'll call Mack Taylor at CSU," Deakins decided. "We'll get them to check it out, and see if they can trace the email. I'll see if they can match this guy to any known victims in Florida." He paused, then laid a hand lightly on Goren's shoulder. "Are you okay, Bobby?"

He got a very abrupt answer as Goren literally launched himself out of his chair and headed quickly towards the bathroom, limping heavily.

"I never thought I'd see the day…" Carver murmured. Eames shot him a threatening look.

"Don't even think about finishing that thought, Mr Carver. He's got every right to be upset. If that email was meant to be a joke, then it damn well isn't funny."

"Alex is right," Deakins agreed, and he sounded angry now. "I want to know who's responsible for this. I'll call Mack now, and have him send someone to come and get the laptop. Alex, will he be all right? Will _you_ be all right?"

"We'll be fine," she said quietly. "Just… find the son of bitch who sent that email."

* * *

_Twenty-four hours later_

Goren and Eames walked into Deakins' office in silence. They had just returned from court with Carver, and had both been looking forward to taking a well-deserved lunch break, only to be told they were wanted in Deakins' office immediately.

Deakins waited until they were both seated before speaking.

"I've been instructed to update you both on that email," he said quietly, looking intently from one detective to the other. Eames was back on her feet in an instant.

"We don't want to know."

"You don't have a choice," Deakins said, his voice becoming slightly strained. "Sit down, Alex. Please."

She sat, albeit reluctantly. Deakins went on apologetically.

"I am sorry about this. I would have preferred not to bother you with this, but I've been given strict instructions from my superiors. I need you both to at least hear me out."

Goren spoke softly.

"They're new victims, aren't they? We have a copycat on our hands."

Deakins nodded slowly. He took in their ashen expressions, and silently cursed his superiors for forcing him to do what he was going to have to do.

"You're partly right. The pictures are of three different victims found within the last month. The catch is that it isn't in our territory. Bobby, that email originated from the UK. Specifically, a place called Denton, in Britain."

"Britain?" Eames echoed, stunned. Deakins nodded.

"That's right."

"So we send them our case files," Goren said. He paused, locking stares with Deakins. "But that's not enough, is it?"

"The Chief of Detectives wants me to send two detectives to assist with the case," Deakins admitted reluctantly. "Specifically, he wants me to send the two of you."

Whatever reaction Deakins had tried to prepare himself for, he simply wasn't ready for the frigid looks that he got from both Goren and Eames. If looks could kill, he would have been dead twice over.

"Let me get this straight," Eames said in a toneless voice. "We're expected to go to Britain to help find the copycat of the killer that nearly killed us. Does that pretty much cover it?"

"You don't have to agree to do it," Deakins told them. At least he had the grace to look apologetic, they both thought, exchanging rueful looks. Deakins went on, having little trouble guessing what they were both thinking. "I want you to understand that I'm not ordering you to do this, not under any circumstances. I don't care what the Chief of Detectives has to say, or the Mayor for that matter. I'm just asking you if you would be willing to go. If you both say no, I'll accept that."

"You might," Goren said, "but the Chief of Detectives won't. I bet he told you not to give us a choice, didn't he?"

"Forget him," Deakins growled. "You let me worry about him. I am not forcing this on either of you. If you can't do it, I want you to say so."

Goren and Eames looked at each other for several long seconds in silence before looking back at Deakins.

"Can we have some time to talk it over?" Eames asked. Deakins nodded.

"Sure. Take your time, and remember this is between us. You can say no if you want to."

Again, the detectives exchanged looks, and then rose together and silently left the room.

* * *

"Like hell we have a choice," Eames muttered as she and Goren retreated to an empty case room. "The captain wasn't given a choice, and that means we don't have a choice."

Goren sank into the nearest chair, his breath escaping him in a rush.

"We do have a choice. Deakins will take the heat for us if we say no."

"And spend however long making us feel guilty for it."

"Forget about whether we do or don't have a choice, Alex. Just think about the situation. Do you think you could cope with going?"

She stared at him, uncertainty in her eyes.

"I don't know. I just don't know, Bobby."

"I want to go back to Deakins and tell him no," Goren said. "I really want to, but I can't."

"Those people," Eames whispered, understanding what he meant.

"Three victims so far," Goren said. She regarded him grimly.

"It could be a trap. There's every chance that it was the killer who sent that email. What if whoever it is just wants to finish off what Erik Mathers started? Namely, us!"

"Are you frightened it could happen again?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted simply. Goren sighed faintly.

"So am I."

"I just don't understand why it has to be us!" Eames burst out. "Why can't they send Ash and King? Or even Logan and Bishop? Why us?"

"We're the ones with the first-hand knowledge. Bishop and Logan had a hand in finding us, but we're the ones who experienced it. I don't want to, Alex, I really don't. But if we can help catch this new guy…"

"I really am scared, Bobby," she told him softly. "I just don't know if I can deal with this. Not again."

Heclosed hishand gently over hers.

"I understand that. But this needs to be all or none. If you can't do it, then neither can I. There's no way I could go without you."

Eames frowned at him.

"Are you trying to guilt trip me, Robert Goren?"

He flushed red with embarrassment.

"What? No! I… I was just… I mean…"

She silenced him with a fierce hug, which he returned with equal enthusiasm.

"I'm kidding, Bobby. I know you wouldn't do that to me. At least, not deliberately. Look, what's the bottom line here? What are the pros and cons of us going?"

"Okay," Goren murmured, thankful to have the situation put back into logical perspective. "They have a killer in Britain who is imitating Erik Mathers. They have three victims so far, that we're aware of."

"The pros are that we could help them catch this guy because of what we've experienced," Eames went on. "We know he's deliberately copycatting Mathers, and not just another whack job with a sick sense of fun, because of that email. Unfortunately, that means this new killer might also be hoping we'll take the bait and go over there."

"It could be a trap," Goren agreed. "But we also know what to expect, and we'd be doubly cautious. Neither of us is likely to be caught off-guard again."

The two of them sat for the next few minutes, simply staring at each other in wordless understanding.

"We stick together," Eames said softly, reaffirming a vow made more than five months ago. "Whatever happens, Bobby, we stick together."

He drew her in for another hug.

"We stick together," he agreed. "I promise, Alex."

"Okay," she murmured. "Let's go tell Deakins the good news."

* * *

Deakins and Carver looked up as Goren and Eames came back in.

"That was fast," Carver said dryly. Both detectives ignored him, focusing instead on Deakins.

"We talked it over," Goren said. "We decided that we'll go."

Neither Goren nor Eames could miss the relief that flashed oh-so-briefly over Deakins' face.

"Thankyou," he told them. "I'll let the Chief know, and I promise you I'll make sure he understands that it was your decision."

"There's just one condition we have," Eames said quietly. Deakins raised an eyebrow slightly.

"What condition is that?"

Goren and Eames exchanged glances, and then Eames went on.

"We don't want to be separated while we're over there. Not for any reason."

Deakins nodded. He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't quite getting what Eames really meant.

"All right. I understand…"

"No, sir," Goren interrupted. "I don't think you do. We don't want to be separated. We don't want to be out of sight of each other. We assume we'll be staying in a hotel while we're over there?"

"Yes, but what…"

"We don't want separate rooms," Eames said bluntly. Deakins gaped at them both.

"What? But… Do you have any idea what sort of questions that will raise?"

"We don't care," Goren said. Deakins gave a short laugh.

"You don't care. That's great. Meanwhile, I'm the one who has to explain the single room on the expense account."

"Captain," Goren went on slowly, "we aren't sleeping together. We just don't want to be apart."

"Explain it to me," Deakins pleaded with them, "because I really don't understand."

Neither detective answered immediately. Once more, they sat staring at each other, giving Deakins the unnerving impression that they were communicating without speaking aloud. Finally, Goren broke eye contact with Eames, and looked back at Deakins. When he spoke, the words came tentatively, as though he was struggling to find the right words.

"We have to consider the possibility that it was the killer who sent that email to me. And if it was, he might just be looking to finish what Mathers started. We could be walking into a trap. We were caught off guard, last time. We weren't together…"

"We were out of sight of each other when Mathers took Bobby out," Eames said quietly, when Goren faltered. "It's important to us that we don't let that happen again."

"You can't keep each other in sight every minute of every day," Carver pointed out softly.

"We know that," Goren said, starting to sound agitated. "We know… But this is important to _us_. It might sound ridiculous…"

"But we're asking you to trust us," Eames finished off the sentence for him. "Please, Captain Deakins, just trust us."

"Look at it this way," Goren added, with a wry smile now. "You'll be saving the Department money, because even if you book us into individual rooms, we'll just end up in the same room together anyway."

Deakins rolled his eyes.

"Well, since you put it that way… All right, but you owe me one. God knows how I'm going to explain this one to my superiors."

Eames smirked as they rose to leave.

"Just tell them we don't sleep."

* * *


	2. New Places, New Faces

Author's note: _This will be the last update for three and a half weeks. I will be on holiday for that time, and won't have access to a computer, or the Internet. I will, however, have access to pens and notebooks, so hopefully when I return (and clear the deluge of work left for me by those who are supposed to be filling in for me) I will have at least two or three new chapters ready to be typed up and posted. Maybe even a completely new story or two…_

_

* * *

_

_Criminal Investigation Department  
__Denton_

Detective Inspector William Edward Frost, better known as Jack to his friends and enemies alike, stepped through the door of his office and collapsed into his chair. Hepressed his hands over his face and groaned softly. He had just returned from the morgue, after viewing yet another body that had been found dumped on the outskirts of the Denton area. It was the fourth such victim, and the worst one to date. The body had been horribly abused, peppered with puncture wounds of various sizes.

Worst of all had been the expression of terror on the victim's face. As well as dying in agony, the poor bastard had also died in a state of absolute, complete terror. No one deserved such a shocking fate. No one.

"Jack?"

Jack looked up slowly as one of his subordinates, Detective Sergeant George Toolan looked in.

"What is it, George?"

"Thought I'd better warn you. Mullett wants you in his office. I think it's about these killings."

Jack bit back the urge to groan. Whenever Mullett wanted to see him, it was usually to try and threaten and bully him into doing a better – read, more 'efficient' job. In other words, solve the crime quickly, and spend as little of department funds as possible. Something that was next to impossible to achieve when they had what looked like a serial killer on the loose.

"Did you hear me, Jack?"

"All right, George," Jack snapped. "Yes, I heard you. I'm not deaf. I'm going, all right?"

George, a tall, gangly officer and one of Jack's long-standing friends, smiled sympathetically as the gruff inspector pushed past him and stomped away down the corridor.

"Good luck, Guv. You're going to need it this time."

* * *

Jack headed along the hallway towards the Superintendent's office, seriously contemplating the wisdom of doing a disappearing act out of the office. As much as he wanted to, though, he knew Mullett would have his head if he did. Resigning himself to the anticipated lecture, Jack rapped on Mullett's door and went in.

Superintendent Norman Mullett looked up from his desk as Jack walked in, and offered the Inspector a smile. Jack immediately felt his guards go up. Mullett was a consummate politician and ass-licker, and only ever smiled when he wanted something.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" he asked, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible.

"Yes, Jack. Have a seat."

Alarms started ringing faintly in Jack's ears. Something major was up for Mullett to be offering him a seat.

"Actually, Sir, I think I'd prefer to stand…"

"Sit down, Jack," Mullett insisted. "I don't think you want to be standing for this."

Jack sat down. The alarms were ringing full strength now.

"What is it?"

"I've been contacted by my superiors. As you might have guessed, they're quite concerned about this string of murders, and they'd like us to solve it as quickly as possible."

It was all Jack could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Though he dared not say it aloud, when Mullett said 'we', he of course meant Jack alone.

"We are doing the best we can with the resources we have," Jack said testily. "We're spread thin enough as it is. We need more people."

The argument was pointless. Mullett had never approved extra man-power for any case. He was far too budget-conscious.

"Well," Mullett said, "in that case, it seems your prayers have been answered."

Jack blinked, not sure he understood what Mullet had just said.

"Excuse me, Sir? Are you saying we're getting more officers to work on this?"

"In a manner of speaking."

The alarms were back, ringing loud and clear.

"What do you mean, in a manner of speaking?"

"We've been contacted by another police department. It seems that the wounds and manner of death of our victims matches the victims of a serial killer they had on their hands around six months ago."

"Oh, brilliant," Jack growled. "A serial killer who likes to change territory…"

"Not quite. This particular man is dead. The concern is that we may have a copycat."

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better. Are they sending us their files?"

"Yes… And the two detectives that worked the case."

Jack was silent for a long moment, teetering between gratitude at the extra man-power, and irritation at cops from another area barging in on his case. Finally, he decided to come down on the side of gratitude.

"Well, I'll be glad of the extra help, Sir. When are they arriving?"

"Late tomorrow afternoon. Their flight arrives at Denton Airport at four o'clock."

"Flight…?" Jack echoed. "Where are they coming from?"

Mullett drew in a long breath, and braced himself for the explosion.

"New York."

Jack stared at Mullett in disbelief.

"New York? They're American?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Oh, this is brilliant!" Jack exploded, almost launching himself out of the chair. "Just what I need!"

"Now, Jack…"

"No!" Jack shouted. "With all due respect to the Americans, Sir, I do not have time to baby-sit a couple of Yankee coppers!"

Mullett quickly stood up to meet the Inspector head on.

"Jack, calm down. I know you're upset. I don't like it either, but my superiors worked it out with the hierarchy in New York. I wasn't told myself until an hour ago. All I can say is that we need to stay open-minded and accept the assistance with good grace. They aren't coming to take over the case. They're coming because if it is a copycat, they may have valuable information to help us solve it."

Jack stared at Mullett, a dozen thoughts running through his mind, none of which he felt comfortable saying aloud.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No, Jack, I'm afraid not. Look, take advantage of the situation. Put these detectives to work. If what I was told is right, they're no slouches at the job. It might just prove beneficial to have them here."

Jack sighed heavily.

"Fine. I suppose you want me to meet them at the airport tomorrow?"

"No, I'll take care of that. Just get back to things. And Jack, I appreciate your cooperation."

The Inspector said nothing as he exited Mullett's office. Outside, George Toolan and Detective Sergeant Hazel Wallace were waiting.

"Well?" George asked. "What happened?"

"We're getting a couple of extra pairs of hands," Jack announced grandly as he led the way towards the cafeteria.

"You mean Mullett actually approved extra help?" Hazel asked in disbelief. Jack was silent for a moment, wondering how to break the news without instantly turning his subordinates against the newcomers.

"Not exactly. It appears that our victims match victims from another serial killer that was on the loose six months ago. We might have a copycat on our hands. We're getting a couple of detectives to assist us with our case."

"Where from?" George asked.

Jack grimaced.

"New York."

Stunned silence met the statement.

"New York?" Hazel echoed. "Are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't," Jack muttered. "But I'm afraid I'm very serious. So was Mullett. Apparently they're the coppers that worked the case in New York. Some bright spark thought it'd be a good idea to send them over here to us. We don't get a choice in the matter."

"This is just great," George snapped. "Just what we need, a couple of arrogant, self-important Yankees barging in and trying to take over…"

"I hate to admit it, but Mullett is right," Jack growled. "We don't have a choice here, so we might as well make the best of it. We'll put them to work, and hopefully having the extra man-power will take some of the pressure off the rest of you. All right?"

"There's always the possibility that it might actually help to have them here," Hazel pointed out. "They might have some insights that will help us catch our killer."

Jack shook his head as he helped himself to a sandwich from the cafeteria selection.

"I doubt it, Hazel. I seriously doubt it."

* * *

_Apartment of Detective Robert Goren  
__Manhattan, NYC_

Goren lay stretched out on his sofa, a couple of pillows stacked up behind his head and another three cushioning his right leg. He'd had a bad night, suffering a great deal of pain, and none of the painkillers his doctor had prescribed were proving effective. At some time through the night, he'd abandoned his bed and retreated to the sofa with his favourite book, a nice thick blanket, and just about every pillow in the apartment. He would have loved to treat himself to a Scotch as well, but medication and alcohol simply didn't mix.

The change of scenery hadn't worked, and he'd spent the rest of the night alternating between chapters of Winnie the Pooh, and channel surfing on the TV.

Five hours later, he was feeling tired and downright grumpy, and not at all happy with the prospect of an impending thirty hour flight in cramped conditions. He wasn't looking forward to that all.

The doorbell rang. Grimacing, Goren threw off the blanket and manoeuvred himself off the sofa, limping painfully across to the door. He was visibly surprised to find Deakins waiting on the other side. The captain hesitated in speaking, eyeing Goren critically.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Goren turned away, unable to completely suppress a scowl.

"Not much."

Deakins decided to hold his tongue. From the looks of it, Goren really was in a phenomenally bad mood.

"Ready to go?"

It was all Goren could do not to snap at his captain. Instead, he indicated silently to the bags that waited near the door. There were two small suitcases, and smaller overnight bag stacked together.

"Okay," Deakins said, slinging the overnight bag over his shoulder, and picking a suitcase up in each hand. He deliberately ignored the look of irritation on Goren's face at his action. "Grab your stick, and let's go."

When Goren made no move to get the walking stick, Deakins threw him a threatening look.

"You're not leaving without it, Goren. It's not negotiable."

Goren's scowl deepened.

"You've been talking to my doctor, haven't you?"

It was no question, and Deakins was unapologetic.

"You might hate the damned thing, Bobby, but unless you want to be in that leg brace for the rest of your life, you'd better start using it properly. And yes, I promised your doctor that I wouldn't let you leave it behind. "

Goren didn't argue further, but snatched the walking stick up and limped out through the door.

"I'll just have to leave it on the plane, then."

Deakins smirked to himself as he locked the door and followed Goren down the hall to the lifts.

"Don't bet on it, pal."

* * *

Eames was waiting in the car when they emerged from the building. She took one look at Goren's expression, and made no effort to conceal her grin.

"Miss your morning coffee?" she teased.

"Don't start," he grumbled as he climbed awkwardly into the front passenger seat of the SUV. Eames grinned even more broadly.

"Oh, you're going to be a lot of fun on the flight, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Alex."

"Bite me."

Goren glared back at her over his shoulder, to which Eames replied by poking her tongue out at him.

"Real mature, Alex," Deakins chided her as he got into the driver's seat.

"Yeah, _Eames_," Goren retorted. "Grow up."

She favoured him with a mock frown.

"If you weren't already in pain, I'd smack you for that."

It was all Deakins could do not to laugh out loud. The first time he had seen them erupt into a fight like this had been just a week after they'd returned to work. Goren had visibly been in a lot of pain with his leg, and everyone had been walking on eggshells around him for the better part of the morning.

Then Eames had come back in from spending the morning in court with Carver. She'd taken one look at his face and promptly suggested he go home and take a valium, or three. It might have ended right there, but then she'd added cheekily that if he was a good boy, she'd come by later and make him a hot milk and tuck him into bed.

Goren had exploded in a verbaloutburst that had sent several officers running for cover, butEames hadn't so much as flinched away from him.The two had then sat trading furious insults for the next half hour until Deakins finally came out and demanded they put a stop to it.

He'd retreated to his office, fearful that he would have to go to the Chief Commissioner after all and advise him that cracks were starting to show. Then, ten minutes later, when he got up to get a coffee, he'd glanced out the window of his office and had been treated to an astonishing and reassuring sight.

Eames was standing beside Goren, leaning over to look at something he was showing her. After a minute, she straightened up, but not before planting a light kiss on the top of his head. Even as Deakins watched, Goren caught Eames' hand in his own, squeezing with gentle affection before letting go so she could return to her own seat.

Since then, there had been several instances where Goren and Eames had launched into some truly blistering arguments, and each time the end result had been the same, with a tender kiss and an affectionate hug. Deakins had soon come to realise that it only happened when one of them was in severe pain and, as odd as it seemed, it appeared to be a very effective means of distracting them from their problems, at least for a while. It also appeared to be a very effective way of relieving the build-up of near unbearable tension and stress.

He should have anticipated it this time, knowing the state Goren was in, and let it play out. On the other hand, he had no wish to be caught in the middle of one of their exchanges, no matter how therapeutic it seemed to be for them. It was time to defuse the situation, and he knew exactly how to do it.

"Now," he said gruffly, even as Goren was gearing up for a reply to Eames' playful threat, "I hope you two aren't going to force me to sit in between you on the plane."

Abrupt silence fell as both Goren and Eames turns incredulous stares on their captain.

"Sit between… You're coming with us?" Goren asked, stunned. Deakins nodded. He hadn't intended on telling them until the last possible moment, but his desire to avoid a shouting match between them overrode all else. Now, of course, he ran the risk of one… or both of them exploding at him rather than each other.

"Don't get angry," Deakins told them. "It isn't that I don't trust you both. But the truth is, there was only one way I could convince your doctors and counsellors to allow you to go, and that was if I agreed to go as well."

"To keep an eye on us," Eames said flatly. "So you trust us…"

"But our doctors don't," Goren finished off. Deakins sighed a little. How was he going to work around this without raising their hackles? Finally, he decided on the truth, or at least a semi-truth.

"I never wanted this to be put on the two of you. I fought like hell with the Chief of Detectives over it, but he ordered me to assign you to it. After you both agreed, I went back to him and told him what you'd decided. Then I told him I was only going to allow you both to go if I went with you."

"What did he say to that?" Goren asked.

"He hit the roof. Asked me how much I really valued my job, or if I was more interested in playing nanny to you two."

"Son of a bitch," Eames muttered. Deakins smiled faintly.

"I held my ground. In the end he had to approve it. The Chief Commissioner himself ordered him to."

There was another long moment of silence, and then Goren spoke in a noticeably subdued voice.

"We appreciate it, sir."

Deakins glanced first at Goren, and then in the mirror at Eames.

"You've both been back at work for only a month. It's only been five months since it happened. I don't want either of you going into this without support. I trust you both completely, but the truth is you may not get the warmest reception over there. This little… exchange was worked out without the approval of the detectives working the case. They might not be too thrilled with us butting in. After what you two have been through, I'm not staying back here and letting you deal with it on your own."

Goren and Eames exchanged looks. It was near impossible to be angry in the face of such a fervent argument. Deakins hesitated, then spoke again, a small grin on his face.

"Plus, I promised your doctors I'd make sure you both kept up your physio."

"You can't be serious!" Eames moaned. "What are you going to do, stand shotgun over us while we do our exercises?"

"No," Deakins conceded. "But I will be making sure you get to Denton hospital for the physio appointments your doctors took the liberty of setting up for you. Every second evening for you, Goren, and every Monday, Thursday and Saturday evening for you, Eames. You aren't getting out of it, like it or not."

"I don't believe this," Eames growled. Deakins smirked, then got a brief look at the expression on Goren's face right before the detective looked away out the window.

"Goren, don't even think about skipping those sessions. Remember what happened when you first got out of hospital."

Goren grimaced. He remembered, all right. He had actually been released from hospital two weeks earlier than the official date registered in his medical records. However, two days out of hospital, and he had 'accidentally on purpose' forgotten to go to his physio session at the hospital. When Eames had gone to see him two days after that, she had found him in a state of absolute agony, unable to move from where he'd collapsed in his bedroom. She'd quickly called an ambulance, and he'd spent the nextweek back in hospital as an in-patient.

Afterseveral intensive sessions of physio, and severalvery longlectures from his very angry doctor, Goren had determined never again to miss the vital, if painful, physio sessions.

"Don't worry," he said finally, just a touch of bitterness in his voice. "I won't skip it."

* * *

They arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport, and were soon checking in their luggage. Goren and Eames hung back, letting Deakins sort out the details and paying minimal attention until the woman on the other side of the counter handed Deakins three tickets and boarding passes.

"Three upgrades to Business Class, with special consideration. The flight departs from Gate Three, Captain Deakins. You'll need to be there an hour prior to departure for security checks."

Deakins thanked the woman, then turned back to two incredulous stares.

"Business Class?" Eames asked in disbelief. "The Department didn't seriously pay for that…"

"The Department footed the bill for Economy fares," Deakins told them as they moved away from the counter. "But I have a good friend who works for this airline. I put a call through to him, and he organised the upgrades." Deakins looked at Goren. "If you think I'm going to put up with you in a foul mood because you've been cramped up for thirty hours in an economy seat, think again. I would have paid for the upgrades myself, if I'd had to."

"Thankyou," Goren murmured, sounding genuinely grateful. Deakins smiled.

"You're welcome. Just do me one favour."

"What's that?" Eames asked suspiciously. Deakins snatched Goren's beloved folder out from under his arm, where it had been firmly tucked, and shoved it into his own shoulder bag before the detective had a chance to protest.

"Enjoy the damn flight. I don't want either of you thinking about anything even remotely work-related until we get to Denton. Understand?"

"I'd enjoy it more if I could have a Scotch, or a whiskey," Goren muttered sulkily.

"On top of your painkillers?" Eames retorted. "Forget it. I, on the other hand, will have…"

"Club soda," Deakins interrupted firmly, ignoring the dirty look Eames gave him. "You're on medication, too, in case you'd forgotten."

"So much for a nice, relaxing trip," Goren teased.

"Oh, shut up," Eames grumbled.

* * *

_Denton Airport  
__Approx.30 hours later_

Superintendent Norman Mullett waited as passengers disembarked from the New York flight, watching for his first glimpse of the three American police officers that Denton would be playing host to for the next couple of weeks, or however long it took to wrap up this current investigation.

For once, Mullett found himself in agreement with Jack. He had tried hard not to think of this as an intrusion, but that was what it felt like, regardless. He only hoped the detectives would not try to take over the investigation. If they did, things were likely to get very unpleasant very quickly, and though he would never have said so aloud, Jack Frost was not a man to cross.

The stream of people coming off the plane faded to a trickle, and finally petered out altogether. Mullett frowned, starting to wonder whether he'd been provided with the right information as to the Americans' arrival. Then, just as he was about to turn away, three figures emerged through the gateway.

Mullett felt his jaw drop open, and had to make a conscious effort to close it again. Granted, he hadn't really known what to expect, but he really had not expected what he was actually seeing.

Coming out into the terminal lounge were three people, two men and a woman. One of the men was perhaps some inches shorter than the other, with silver-grey hair. He had a look of authority about him, and Mullett immediately pegged him for being the superior officer.

The other man was impressively tall, at least six foot three, possibly taller, and appeared to have a physique to match. Mullett couldn't help but muse that the crime rate in Denton would drop significantly if they had more officers with that sort of height and physique in their quarter. What caught Mullett's attention first and foremost, though, was the brace that completely enclosed the taller man's right leg, and the walking stick with which he supported himself.

Similarly, the woman's left arm was also in a brace which, like her companion's leg brace, stretched almost the full length of her arm.

They were moving slowly, most likely to cater for the man with the leg brace. Mullett felt confused and a little embarrassed. He was just starting to wonder whether he had the wrong people entirely when the woman turned a little and her jacket opened out to reveal a glimpse of the holstered gun that was clipped to her belt.

Mullett grimaced. That settled it. They were the right ones. Sucking in his displeasure and forcing what he hoped was a welcoming smile onto his face, he strode forward to meet them.

* * *

"Heads up," Deakins muttered through clenched teeth, and to the amusement of both Goren and Eames. "The Welcome Wagon is coming."

They barely made it past the opening into the terminal when, sure enough, they were confronted by an officious-looking man in police uniform.

"Captain James Deakins?"

Deakins felt the slight rippled of silent laughter that passed through both detectives on each side of him, and had to resist the urge to elbow the both of them.

"Yes," he confirmed, accepting the offered hand in a quick, firm shake.

"I'm Superintendent Norman Mullett, head of Denton CID. I trust you had a good flight over?"

"It was fine, thankyou."

"And I assume these are the detectives that worked the case in New York?"

Deakins bit back the urge to make a sarcastic reply.

"This is Detective Robert Goren, and Detective Alex Eames," he introduced them. "And yes, they were very much involved in the Erik Mathers case in New York."

Goren coughed, while Eames shook her head and tried not to laugh. Trust Deakins to completely understate things. Mullett glanced at the two of them with open scepticism, then indicated the terminal exit.

"If you'll come with me, then, we'll get you through Customs, and then we'll collect your luggage."

They started walking, and Mullett soon found he had to slow his pace to match those of the Americans.

"You'll have to excuse us," Deakins said, sounding not the least bit apologetic. "It was a long flight, and we're not quite moving up to speed."

"Quite all right," Mullett replied, fighting to hide his irritation. "Quite understandable. Although… I hope you'll forgive me when I say this, but you weren't quite what I was expecting."

Deakins glanced to Eames, and then Goren, taking in their bemused expressions and knowing he wore an equally bemused look on his own face. Mullett went on, seemingly oblivious to the exchange of looks.

"It's just that… well, we were hoping that your officers would be able to actively assist in our investigations."

"Is there any reason you can see why they shouldn't?" Deakins asked. Mullett reddened noticeably.

"I'm sorry. It's just… well…"

"I think he has a problem with our injuries, Captain," Eames said, deciding to put an end to the games. Deakins slowed to a halt, focusing a penetrating stare on Mullett.

"Perhaps we should clear the air right now, to avoid any problems down the track. The injuries sustained by my detectives happened during their investigation of the very case that both our superiors believe directly reflects what is currently happening here in Denton. Out of the six detectives that were directly involved with our investigation, you won't get anyone else with more familiarity to the case. Their injuries are no obstacle to us lending assistance to you, unless you make it so."

Mullett was looking more than a little put-out by then.

"I apologise. I wasn't wishing to offend anyone."

"No offence taken," Goren said, a faint smile. "But you should probably know that there's another reason why we're here, and not any of the other four detectives."

"The last two victims that Erik Mathers took survived," Deakins said quietly when Mullett threw Goren a frowning look. That quickly drew the Superintendent's attention.

"Survivors? You're serious? Well, I must say, it would be quite useful if we had the opportunity to speak to them."

Deakins swallowed the urge to smirk openly. Instead, he stepped to one side and motioned broadly to Goren and Eames.

"Once we're settled? Be my guest."

Mullett stared open-mouthed at the two detectives, completely taken aback.

"I… What I mean is… Oh, good Lord…"

"We'd prefer it wasn't advertised publicly," Eames said firmly. "We'll talk to the officer that's in charge of the investigation about it if necessary, but otherwise we'd appreciate having the discretion to decide who we do or don't tell."

"It's not something that we can freely talk about," Goren added. Mullett nodded sympathetically.

"Of course, I understand. I'll leave that entirely up to you. The officer in charge of the investigation is Detective Inspector Frost. I think he would need to know, but again, I'll leave that decision to you. I take it that it was a… _difficult_ situation."

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks. Mullett couldn't have made a bigger understatement if he'd tried.

"They were nearly killed," Deakins said grimly. "I'm not going to go into details, but I hope you'll believe me when I say I'm not exaggerating about that."

"I don't doubt that," Mullett conceded. "I gather, then, that the braces are because you suffered broken bones…?"

Again, Mullett displayed an uncanny knack for understating the obvious.

"My arm was broken in five places," Eames said quietly. "Bobby's legs were both broken, but his right leg was broken in seven places. We fell from a precipice trying to escape Erik Mathers."

"Good lord," Mullett muttered again. "Well, any consideration we can give you…"

"We don't want special consideration," Goren said, his voice taken on a distinct edge. "We don't need it."

"Goren," Deakins growled in a warning tone. He then looked back to Mullett. "There is one consideration we'll need. Both detectives have standing appointments at Denton Hospital for physio that they can't afford to miss. I need to make sure they get to those appointments, and I'd appreciate help in making sure that happens."

Mullett nodded quickly.

"Of course. I'll do everything I can to assist you."

Deakins shot the two detectives a triumphant smirk.

"Thankyou. You can probably imagine, they tend to get a little belligerent about the physio, but it is necessary, whether they like it or not."

"I think I know what you mean," Mullett sympathised as they resumed walking again. "The Inspector leading the investigation, Frost, is much the same. He's a brilliant officer, but quite stubborn, usually to his own detriment."

"They're getting along great," Goren mumbled as he and Eames followed the two senior officers. "Two peas in a pod."

"Great," Eames muttered under her breath. "Double the fun."

* * *


	3. Revelations

_Author's note:_ I'm back, after three lovely weeks of holidays and, as promised, have completed another couple of chapters of reasonable length. Having had something of a brainwave (or an epiphany, if you will) while I was away, hopefully this story will start to move quite quickly now. Hopefully...

* * *

_Denton_

"I've taken the liberty of arranging dinner in the hotel restaurant," Mullett told them as they left the airport. "DI Frost will join us. I thought it would be a good opportunity to meet properly, and we can also fill you on the details of our investigation."

"Sounds fine," Deakins agreed. "What time?"

"Eight. Thought you might appreciate some time to… freshen up."

"We would," Deakins confirmed. Mullett nodded, pleased with his foresight.

"Very well. We'll get you to your hotel."

"Officious jerk," Goren grumbled once Mullett had finally left them at the hotel. Deakins smiled wryly as they followed the bellhop to their rooms.

"I know the type. More politician than cop."

"You mean he's an ass-kisser," Eames said bluntly, drawing an amused glance from the bellhop. Deakins fought back a grin.

"Careful, Alex. He's not that different to me."

"Like hell. You're no ass-kisser. You always stand up for us. I bet he'd never in a million years do for his officers what you did for us five months ago."

Deakins' amused smile faded quickly.

"That was a unique situation. You can't make judgments on what someone would or wouldn't do if they were faced with the same circumstances.

"Maybe not," Goren conceded quietly. "But we know what you _did_ do. You saved our lives."

Deakins' expression became guarded.

"It was a team effort. Don't forget that. There were more people involved in finding you than just me."

"Yeah," Eames said with a shake of her head. "And Logan is not letting us forget it."

The captain laughed softly.

"No, he probably wouldn't. Go on, now. Go and freshen up, and rest for a little while. I'll meet you down in the bar at a quarter to eight. And if either of you sneaks down there ahead of me for anything stronger than a club soda…"

He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken. Goren and Eames merely grinned at each other, and disappeared into their room.

* * *

"Damn."

Eames paused in the doorway to the bathroom, looking back at her partner questioningly.

"What's wrong?"

Goren sat down on the edge of his bed, looking frustrated and annoyed.

"Deakins still has my notebook."

"Oh. Well… Don't worry about it. You can get it back from him later. Remember, he did tell us to rest, Bobby."

Goren grimaced.

"Wishful thinking."

"Who for? You, or him?"

Goren didn't try to answer that. He waited until she vanished into the bathroom, then got up again and limped across to the kitchenette, and looked into the fridge. Inside there were several bottles of alcohol – beer and a few different mixers, along with two bottles of white wine. There didn't appear to be anything at all in the way of non-alcoholic drinks, except for a solitary bottle of coke tucked away in the back.

He straightened up, sighing softly. Typical.

"Hey, Bobby, come and take a look at this."

He turned away from the fridge and made his way slowly into the bathroom. Eames frowned reproachfully at him.

"Damn it, Bobby, are you trying to cripple yourself? I know you hate using the walking stick, but isn't it better than the alternative? I swear, if you don't take more care, I'm going to have to tell Deakins…"

He looked almost petulant in the face of her rebuke.

"I don't think walking a few metres here and there without it is going to cripple me, Alex. And anyway, you can't talk."

"What are you talking about?" she growled, immediately going on the defensive.

"Your dad told me about you taking his car out last weekend. And you know damned well that you aren't supposed to drive again for at least two months."

Eames had gone red.

"I didn't think Dad even knew. Damn, busted…"

Goren smirked, pleased with his victory.

"You tell on me, and I'll tell on you."

She rolled her eyes. "You can be totally childish, you know that? Okay, truce?"

He accepted her outstretched hand, though he continued to smirk.

"Truce. Now, what was it you wanted to show me?"

She grinned, and pointed across the floor.

"Check out the bath."

Goren limped over and looked in. A moment later, his face lit up.

The bath was shaped like a large, square spa, though there were no jet functions built into the walls. It was set deep into the floor, so that there was only a small step to negotiate to step into it. Then there were four long, flat steps indicating the varying depths of the bath, easy to manage and perfect for sitting on. Running down the wall was a sturdy handrail, perfectly positioned to hang on to whether a person was standing or sitting. Additionally, each step, as well as the floor both in and immediately around the bath, was inlaid with a non-slip matting, ensuring the safest possible environment for someone in Goren's position – someone for whom one small slip could be disastrous.

"I bet we have Deakins to thank for this, too," Goren commented, shaking his head and laughing quietly.

"Who cares?" Eames retorted. "The point is, you can have a bath and not need any help."

"I know. No showers while we're here."

The relief in his voice was palpable. Eames nodded understandingly. She knew what he meant, because she had the same difficulties. As much as they both loved taking showers, and being able to stand under a cascade of hot water, over the last five months it had become something of a trauma because the water pressure on their still-healing limbs caused more pain than they could reasonably bear.

While she had the option of bathing instead, there was no alternative for him. There were no safety features like handrails and non-slip mats in the bathroom in his apartment, and without someone to help him, slippery baths were a hazard that he simply couldn't risk.

"Go ahead," she told him when he looked at her pleadingly. "Run a bath for yourself, have a soak."

"Are you sure?" he asked, unable to quite hide his hopefulness. She smiled warmly at him, and leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"I'm sure. Just two things, though. If you take any longer than an hour, I'll get Deakins in here. I want a bath, too. And don't you dare fall asleep in there, because I'm not coming in to wake you up if you start having nightmares. There's a lot that I'll do for you, Bobby, but seeing you naked is _not_ one of them."

* * *

_An hour and a half later_

Jack Frost arrived at the hotel bar shortly after half past seven, feeling more than a little bit irritable. When Mullett had sprung this little dinner on him earlier that day, he'd been less than impressed. As much as he appreciated a meal on the Department, it annoyed him to lose even a couple of hours of investigation time. Especially when Mullett was likely to be on his back the next day, demanding progress.

Taking a seat at the bar, Jack requested a beer, then took a moment to look around. The bar was quickly filling up with patrons coming in for pre-dinner drinks, but so far he saw no one that fitted the bill of detective. Although that was probably an unfair assessment, Jack conceded reluctantly to himself. He had always tried to avoid judging on appearance, and now was definitely no time to start.

His thought process derailed as the big man on the barstool next to him signalled to the bartender and ordered a coke, shrugging at the odd look that he got.

"Business trip," the man said apologetically. "No drinking."

Jack glanced sideways, his attention drawn by a distinct American accent. Not caring to jump straight in and ask if the man was a police officer, he settled for small talk instead. The chap was big enough in size that he didn't care to cause any aggravation if he happened to be wrong.

"That seems a bit unreasonable."

The man looked at Jack, sizing him up just briefly, then smiled a little.

"Actually, the truth is I had a kind of accident a few months ago, and I'm still getting over it. The painkillers I'm taking don't mix too well with alcohol."

"Ah," Jack murmured. "Yes, well, they wouldn't, would they?"

Silence reigned for a while, and then Jack decided to take a punt, and spoke again.

"I was going to ask whether you happened to be a police detective from New York, but that probably seems like a stupid question, doesn't it?"

Two deep brown eyes looked towards Jack with a penetrating stare.

"You must be Detective Inspector Frost."

Jack did a double-take. He honestly hadn't expected a positive answer. A large, strong-looking hand extended towards him.

"Detective Robert Goren."

Jack shook hands, trying to shrug off his surprise.

"Well… Pleased to meet you. DI Jack Frost."

Amusement lit up Goren's eyes.

"Jack Frost?"

Jack smiled wryly.

"I prefer it to William."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Inspector Frost."

"Please, just call me Jack… Robert, was it?"

"I'd prefer Bobby, if you don't mind."

Jack nodded placidly. "Fine by me. Now, are you sure you won't have something stronger to drink? I've been reliably informed that all costs this evening will be generously covered by Denton CID."

Goren smiled apologetically, then looked pointedly down. Jack finally noticed the leg brace that Goren wore.

"That would be from the accident you mentioned earlier, then?"

Goren couldn't help but smile at Jack's casual reaction.

"Your superintendent was a little more concerned about it than you seem to be."

Jack returned his attention to his beer.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Now, Bobby, if you're half as smart as we've been led to believe you Yankee coppers are, you'll have worked out by now that Mr Mullett is a pompous windbag, whose opinions generally don't amount to a hill of beans."

Goren grinned as he took another mouthful of coke.

"I had noticed that. My captain seemed to get along all right with him, though."

Jack grunted.

"Oh, yes? Just as useless, is he, then?"

Goren's smile faded noticeably.

"Deakins is a good cop… and a good man. He's politically savvy… but he's a cop first and foremost. And he supports his officers. He gets along with your superintendent, but he's not the same as him."

Jack looked back at Goren curiously.

"You have a lot of respect for your captain, by the sounds of it."

Goren stared into his drink, his expression unreadable.

"Yes. I do."

"Well, I'll try to remember that."

"There you are."

Goren looked around, and smiled openly as Eames joined them.

"Alex, this is Detective Inspector Jack Frost. Jack, my partner, Alex Eames."

They shook hands, Jack's gaze flickering just briefly to the brace that enclosed her left arm.

"Would that be a result of the same accident Bobby was in?" he inquired lightly. Eames looked questioningly at Goren, who shrugged again.

"Well, it was an accident. Sort of."

She shook her head. "Some accident." She paused, eyeing his drink suspiciously. "Is that just coke?"

Goren rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

"Yes, it's just coke. You can taste-test it, if you don't believe me."

She patted him reassuringly on the arm.

"It's okay, I do trust you."

"Do you mind me asking, what was this accident?" Jack asked, dimly aware that he was entering potentially sensitive territory.

Goren and Eames stared at each other for a long moment, almost as though they were communicating without speaking.

"We'll tell you what happened," Goren said finally, looking back at him, "but not here. Not now."

Jack looked from one to the other wonderingly.

"This accident… It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the murders in New York, would it?"

"You could say that," Eames murmured, watching warily as Goren abruptly swung back around to face the bar and downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow.

"That had better have been coke, Goren."

All three looked around as they were joined by Deakins. Goren glowered openly at him.

"If the only reason you came along was to baby-sit us…"

He trailed off as Eames laid a hand on his arm, effectively silencing him. To Deakins, she said firmly, "It's just coke. Try showing a little trust, okay?" Then, to Jack, "Don't mind him. Constant pain makes him a little bit irritable."

Jack didn't try to hide his grin. He didn't know yet just what was behind their injuries, and he suspected that he'd be disrespecting them in a major way by making assumptions, but he was sure that he was going to like working with them.

"Captain," Eames went on, "this is Detective Inspector Frost. Inspector Frost, our captain, James Deakins."

"Please," Jack said as he shook hands with Deakins, "just call me Jack. Only lawyers and suspects call me Inspector Frost."

"Ah," a new voice spoke, "I see we've all met now. Wonderful!"

"Lawyers, suspects, and _him_," Jack muttered into his beer, his burgeoning good mood suddenly taking a dive. Mullett joined them, smiling pompously.

"Well, if we're all acquainted, shall we go into the restaurant?"

"Here," Deakins said to Goren in a low voice as they followed Mullett. Goren looked down in surprise to find his beloved notebook being pushed into his hand.

"What…?"

"Give it an hour," Deakins told him, "and then do whatever you can to get rid of this clown."

A cunning smile lit up Goren's face as he realised Deakins was giving him an open hand. He had a good idea of how to send Mullett packing without openly insulting him, too. He just hoped that Jack would quickly catch on.

* * *

An hour later, Goren needed no prompting from Deakins. Unless they got Mullett out of their hair soon, it was entirely possible that one of them would be guilty of committing a homicide before the night was out.

After a pleading glance from Deakins as Mullett took a brief rest from the latest of several long, drivelling monologues, Goren looked pointedly at Eames, who answered with the subtlest of nods.

"So, Jack," Eames said before Mullett had the chance to start speaking again, "exactly how many victims have turned up so far? We know of three specifically."

Jack stared at her, caught completely off-guard by both the unexpected question, and the casual way in which it was delivered. Mullett had just been taking a sip of wine, and promptly went into a coughing fit.

"I, uh… excuse me… I thought we'd save all that for tomorrow," he spluttered.

"Well, we don't operate like that, sorry," Goren replied, sounding not the least bit sorry. "We don't like to waste time when there's a killer on the loose."

"Four, so far," Jack answered as it suddenly dawned on him what they were trying to do. "Four victims, each one apparently tortured before death."

"And the types of wounds?" Eames asked. Goren reached into his folder, and pulled out three or four pictures of victims from Erik Mathers' New York killing spree. He passed them across the table to Jack, making certain that Mullett got a good eyeful in the process.

"Really," Mullett said weakly, sounding more than a little stressed, "is this really the appropriate time to be discussing this?"

"Multiple puncture wounds, just like these," Jack replied, ignoring Mullett's pleas. "In two of the four instances, death was the result of blood loss from the wounds that were sustained. In the other two cases, the victims suffered fatal puncture wounds through the heart. We don't know for certain, but we believe the wounds were made by arrows."

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks. It was an all-too-familiar scenario. Despite their discomfort, though, the discussion had the desired effect.

Mullett rose up abruptly, looking more than a little green in the face. Excusing himself, he exited the restaurant fast, pausing only long enough to hand a credit card to Jack, with which to pay the bill.

"Well," Jack mused once Mullett had gone. "That worked rather well."

"No one does that better than these two," Deakins said, sounding for all the world like a proud father. "If you'll pardon me saying so, though, he doesn't seem to be much of a commanding officer."

Jack nodded. "I suspect that Mullett was quite a good police officer in his day, but he's more politician now than copper. He spends more time keeping the Powers That Be happy than supporting his own officers, unfortunately."

"Well, now we can talk properly," Deakins said. "How about we finish up here, and go somewhere that we can talk more freely?"

There was agreement all round, and fifteen minutes later they retreated to Goren and Eames' room.

* * *

"Well, this is quite cosy, isn't it?" Jack commented as Deakins called Room Service and ordered coffee for all of them.

"We were surprised too," Eames said. "That is, surprised that our Department was willing to foot the bill for this. They're so damned stingy…"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Deakins said with a wry smile.

"All right, then," Jack said as he and Deakins settled into the comfortable armchairs, and Goren and Eames sat together on the couch. "Now, perhaps you can tell me now just how your injuries tie in with this investigation."

Deakins looked from Eames to Goren in mild surprise, but said nothing. The tale was theirs to tell, and no one else had the right to take that from them.

"The killer we had in New York took a total of seven victims," Goren explained quietly. "That's not including the eleven people he killed in Florida eighteen months previous. Five of the New York victims died. Numbers six and seven survived."

"And you two were injured rescuing those victims?"

Goren and Eames exchanged glances again, and then Goren went on in an even more subdued voice.

"No. We _were_ victims number six and seven."

Jack stared at them in horror, feeling an icy chill sweep down through his body. Whatever he'd been anticipating, that hadn't been it.

"Not victims," Deakins interjected firmly. "Survivors."

"What happened?" Jack asked.

"The son of a bitch took us out in his brothers' warehouse," Eames explained. "He took Bobby down first, and then me. He used an iron bar, and damn near cracked both our heads open. The irony was, up to that point we didn't have a clue who the killer was until this happened. If Erik Mathers hadn't done what he did, who knows how many more victims he might have taken?"

Jack nodded in understanding.

"There's nothing like police officers in trouble to rouse the rest of the troops."

"Right," Goren agreed.

"So, you were both kidnapped by this nutcase. What happened then?"

Goren went on quietly, glancing at Eames every so often as though for confirmation of what he was saying.

"We were kept in a small room for two days. We were tied up and blindfolded. We didn't know it at the time, but we were already outside the boundaries of New York City. After two days, he moved us from that room. He doped the water that he gave us, and knocked us both out. When we woke up, we were outside and we had no idea where we were. All we knew was that it was some sort of mountain region."

"There was a note pinned to a tree by an arrow," Eames explained. "It said we had three hours to run, and then Mathers would come after us to hunt us down. We had three days to try and escape him."

"Good god," Jack whispered.

Where he sat on the other side to Goren and Eames, Deakins felt a similar sensation of grim horror. Though he knew much of the basics of their ordeal, there were still some things he didn't know about, things that as yet neither Goren nor Eames had disclosed. The note was one of them, and Deakins knew he couldn't begin to imagine the fear they must have felt on finding it.

"We walked for around three hours," Goren continued on. "We thought we had a pretty good start. What we didn't bet on was the length of time that had passed between when Mathers dumped us outside, and when we actually woke up and found the note. As near as we can figure, we must have been unconscious for nearly three hours…"

"Because about ten minutes after we stopped to take a break, we were suddenly dodging arrows," Eames finished off when Goren hesitated.

"We didn't get far," Goren said. "Now, tell us, does this look at all familiar?"

Even as Jack and Deakins looked on, Goren shifted around on the couch and, unbuttoning his shirt, pulled the material down to reveal several scarred-over puncture wounds.

"Three of our victims have wounds exactly like that," Jack said tensely. Goren did his shirt up again, while Eames explained.

"That wound was made by a metal ball that was about half the size of a pool ball, and was covered in long metal spikes. Were there traces of sedatives in the blood of those three victims?"

"Yes," Jack confirmed. "Mild sedatives mixed with a hallucinogen. Are you saying that's how the drugs were administered?"

"When I pulled the ball out of Bobby's shoulder, two of the spikes didn't come out. They were stuck in the bone, and broke away from the metal ball. Those spikes leaked a poisonous, but non-lethal mix of drugs into Bobby's bloodstream. Twenty-four hours later he had a sky-high temperature, and was starting to hallucinate."

"Method in the madness," Jack mused grimly. "That would have been an effective means of slowing down anyone who was getting the better of him."

"That was his intention," Goren agreed. "If Alex hadn't been with me, I doubt I could have shrugged off the effects of the drugs."

"And it must have hurt like hell," Jack added, wincing sympathetically as his imagination conjured up a graphic reconstruction of the injury.

"It did," Goren agreed in a very subdued voice. Neither Jack nor Deakins missed the way Eames reached across and gently grasped Goren's hand. Both chose to ignore it.

"We managed to give Mathers the slip by hiding inside a small crevasse," Eames went on softly. "Then we decided to back-track."

"We figured Mathers must have used some sort of vehicle to get us up the mountain. If we could get back to where we started, we might have been able to find the road he used," Goren added. Jack nodded.

"Sounds logical."

"It might have worked, too, except we had two things working against us. Firstly, I was hurt, and that slowed us down a lot. Secondly, night came on a lot faster than we thought it would. It got dark long before we got back to where we started from. Then, when we did find something, it wasn't a road. It was Erik Mathers' cabin."

"And you stayed there," Jack guessed. Their story was swiftly ruining any appetite he still had, but as much as he wanted to tell them to stop, he made himself listen. He knew he had to hear them out if he was going to have any understanding of what was going on in his own territory.

"It was either that, or freeze to death outside," Eames said. "We didn't dare light a fire in case it led Mathers to us, and we couldn't stay out in the open."

"Mathers had stripped us of pretty much everything except our shirts and pants," Goren explained. "We had no shoes and socks, no jackets…"

"And no protection from the cold," Eames finished. "We had to weigh up the risk of Mathers coming back to the cabin against the risk of leaving the only shelter we had. We decided to stay."

"Unfortunately for us," Goren went on, "Mathers came back."

"That's when I was shot in the leg with an arrow," Eames said, her hand brushing lightly over the recently healed wound in her right thigh.

"Bloody hell," Jack muttered, his face a distinct pasty colour.

"I couldn't walk," she went on softly, "let alone run. I told Bobby to leave me. I thought he'd have a chance of getting away on his own, but he wasn't having any of that. He picked me up, and carried me."

Jack looked questioningly to Deakins, who nodded in silent confirmation, his own thoughts flickering back to their search for the two detectives the next morning.

"We didn't get far," Goren said ruefully. "I took a wrong turn, and we came to a dead end…"

"That dead end being a precipice ending in a forty to fifty foot drop to a river below," Deakins said quietly. Goren grimaced.

"Didn't feel that high… Until we hit the water, anyway."

Jack gaped, unable to stop himself.

"You jumped?"

"No," Eames corrected him. "We fell, we didn't jump. At that point, Mathers caught up to us. He fired another arrow at us, and it hit Bobby in the side. He was still carrying me when that happened. He lost balance, and we fell from the precipice."

"I broke both my legs when we hit the water," Goren said, "and Alex broke her left arm. Among other things."

Jack imagined that were he to look at his reflection right then, he would probably appear deathly pale.

"You're both bloody lucky you weren't killed. But… did you say you broke _both_ your legs?"

Goren nodded.

"Yes, but I didn't know right then that they were both broken. My right leg was so badly broken that I honestly didn't notice the left was broken as well. In a way it was just as well. If I had known, I might not have gotten back up again"

Jack let his breath out in a rush. If what the Denton victims had suffered was anything remotely like the terrible story he was hearing from Bobby and Alex, then they had to catch the killer fast.

"Well, I guess I can understand the need for the braces, then," Jack muttered, at a loss for anything else to say. "Just tell me one thing. How in God's name did you get out of it alive?"

At that, both Goren and Eames looked pointedly to Deakins, who took over the story-telling duties with some reluctance.

"I put together a taskforce when we worked out that Bobby and Alex had been taken by the killer. Thanks to the help we got from an outside source, we got a lead that took us to a town at the base of Gore Mountain, in a mountain range that was north of New York City. From there we headed up the mountain. We got to Mathers' cabin perhaps twenty or so minutes after Bobby and Alex had gone."

"You were that close?" Eames asked incredulously. Deakins nodded grimly.

"Yes. We were close enough that we heard your scream when Mathers shot you with that arrow. But we weren't close enough to get there quickly and stop what happened after that." He looked across at Jack. "We didn't get to them until nearly mid-way through the next afternoon, and then we were nearly too late. Mathers got to them before we did."

He faltered, staring at the floor as the traumatic memories assailed him. Goren and Eames watched him carefully. Like Deakins with their ordeal, they knew the basics of what had gone on with their dramatic rescue, but they had never heard it in detail from Deakins' own lips.

"When I came into the clearing, Alex was the only one there. She… She was pinned to a tree… impaled by an arrow through her stomach. I thought… I really thought she was dead. I left her with the two CSIs that were with me…"

"CSIs?" Jack queried.

"Forensic Analysts," Goren explained.

"Ah," Jack murmured. Deakins went on, seemingly oblivious to the interruption.

"I went looking for Bobby. I found him not too far away. Mathers was standing over him, ready to kill him. I shot Mathers dead myself. There was no room for negotiation."

Jack grunted.

"I'll wager your internal investigations division put you through the wringer for it."

Deakins smiled, but it was only a pale reflection of the real thing.

"I was suspended on full pay for three weeks while Internal Affairs investigated it. In the end, I was cleared, but my superiors let me know in no uncertain terms that they weren't happy with the way I handled the situation. Ultimately, I didn't give a damn. I wasn't going to pretend I was sorry about killing Erik Mathers. It was him or Bobby, and I wasn't about to sacrifice one of my two best detectives so some smart ass lawyer could get Mathers off on a technicality. The truth is I've never felt as satisfied as I did when I saw my bullets hitting that sick bastard."

Jack looked over at Goren and Eames, new understanding in his eyes.

"I think I understand now what you were saying earlier, Bobby, and you're quite right. Mullett isn't a patch on your captain here."

"We know," Goren said softly, watching Deakins with renewed respect. Deakins reddened slightly.

"The point is, Jack, if the man you have here in Denton is anything like Erik Mathers, you might not have the option of taking him alive."

Jack grimaced at that.

"I see what you're saying. It could present something of a difficulty, thought. The civil libertarians have something of a foothold around here, and the Press strongly supports them. We've had a lot of bad publicity lately for supposed police brutality. I was suspended myself not six months ago for assaulting a suspect."

"You were obviously cleared, though," Eames ventured. Jack offered them a smile that was both satisfied and bittersweet.

"Oh, I assaulted the man, I don't deny that. The bastard was a convicted paedophile, and we'd just caught him red-handed abducting a young boy for a school. He whispered to me what he'd planned to do to the boy, so I punched him in the face. It felt damned good, I might add. And then he made the mistake of asking for a lesser charge in return for dropping the assault charge against me. Mullett wanted me to accept it, though I think he was less concerned about me than the image of the department. Anyway, I told him what he could do with his deal, collected my belongings and walked out. A month later I was back on the job, and just in time for this latest lunatic to come crawling out of the woodwork."

Eames was smiling openly by then.

"I think we're going to work well together."

Jack nodded his agreement.

"So do I, as a matter of fact."

He stood up, and moved to the door.

"I'll be around to collect you first thing tomorrow morning, and then we can get to work on this properly. Eight o'clock all right?"

"That's fine," Deakins agreed. "We'll meet you in the lobby."

"Very good," Jack said, and let himself out with a brief nod of his head. Once he'd gone, Deakins finished his coffee, then moved towards the door himself.

"Time we all got some rest. I think it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"You never said you were suspended for shooting Mathers," Eames said in a faintly accusing tone. Deakins looked back at them both resignedly.

"You were both still in serious condition in hospital. I wasn't going to let anyone worry you with that. It worked out all right in the end. I just couldn't see the point in bothering either of you with it."

"But you were suspended on account of us!" Goren objected.

"No!" Deakins snapped, startling them both with the vehemence in his voice. "It wasn't either of your faults. None of what happened was. I don't regret killing Mathers, not for a second. If I was presented with the same scenario again, knowing what was in store, I'd make exactly the same choices again. I wasn't going to stand back and let either of you die just to please some faceless bureaucrat who was more worried about the rights of the criminals than those of the victims."

"Not victims," Eames said, a small tired smile on her face. "Survivors."

A genuine smile lit up Deakins' face.

"Right. Survivors. Goodnight, you two."

Eames sank back into the sofa after he'd gone, leaning comfortably into her partner's protective embrace.

"I always used to tell everyone how lucky I am to have you as a partner. But we're just as lucky to have him as a captain."

"I know," Goren murmured. "He risked everything for us. No one else would have done half of what Deakins did. We owe him a hell of a lot."

"I think that somehow he'll be happy to settle for a healthy dose of respect and loyalty."

Goren hugged Eames gently to him, and lightly kissed the top of her head.

"He always had that, from the both of us, and he knows it. It's one of the reasons he did so much for us."

Eames sighed a little. She would have been more than content to spend the rest of the night curled up on the sofa beside Goren, but knew they would both pay dearly for it in the morning. Reluctantly, she gently extricated herself from him and got up.

"Deakins is right. We need to get to sleep now, or we'll never get up tomorrow."

Goren accepted her extended hand, and got awkwardly to his feet. Eames then collected her pyjamas and headed into the bathroom.

"I'll change in here. Give a shout if you need help."

He pulled a face that she didn't see at her retreating figure. The embarrassing truth was that he did find getting changed to be more than a little difficult, particularly when t came to getting shoes and socks on or off. Because his right leg tended to be hypersensitive to anything that brushed against it, whenever he had a particularly bad day or night even pulling on trousers or pyjama bottoms caused him problems.

Unclipping the calliper and setting it to the side, he slid his trousers off and pulled his pyjama pants on. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, Goren pulled off his shirt, but paused before donning his pyjama top.

Eames emerged from the bathroom, and paused to watch him thoughtfully before coming back into the room.

"It still hurts sometimes, doesn't it?"

He looked up at her briefly, then back down at the scarring on his stomach.

"Sometimes, a little. It's nothing, really. Compared to my leg, it's nothing."

She walked over and sat down carefully next to him on the bed, and reached out to touch her fingers lightly to the scar. She then reached around to touch the other scar on his right side, where the arrow had entered.

"I hadn't thought it was possible to be any more frightened than I already was… and then you told me I'd have to push that damned arrow clean through your stomach. I was so terrified that something would go wrong… that the shaft would break, and I wouldn't be able to get it out at all."

He caught her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Nothing went wrong. You did really good, Alex. You saved my life. I would have died if you hadn't found the courage to do what you did."

She slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him warmly.

"I don't know that it was courage, as much as being terrified at the thought of being alone up there. We kept each other going, Bobby."

He returned the hug.

"I know. We both did good."

Silence fell for a while, before Eames smiled as a new and more pleasant memory came to her.

"You know, I've always wondered what Deakins would say if he knew just how we managed to stay warm while we were inside Mathers' cabin."

Goren smiled as well at the memory.

"You mean how we cuddled up together on that bed? I know. He'd probably start thinking that separating us isn't such a bad idea after all. But tell me something…?"

"Mmm?"

"What was it, exactly, that set you off giggling? When we were lying together, I mean. You never did come clean about that."

For a long moment, she honestly didn't know what he was talking about. Then, the memory struck and, almost before she knew it, she was giggling again.

"There you go again," Goren said, sounding a little disgruntled. "Are you going to tell me what's so funny? And don't even think about saying no."

She grinned up at him.

"I couldn't help it. It's just… cuddling up to you is like cuddling up to a giant teddy bear."

His face went red, but nor could he hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Never been called that before."

"A teddy bear?"

"Yeah."

"First time for everything." She drew back from him with some reluctance. A moment later, she was yawning widely. "Definitely time for sleep. C'mon, I'll tuck you in."

He shook his head in mock annoyance, but didn't argue as she helped him into bed, and pulled the blankets carefully up over him.

"Thankyou, Mother," he retorted. She replied by smacking him across the shoulder.

"Knock it off, Bobby, or tomorrow night I'll take the Queen Size and you can have the Single."

He tried to look contrite, and failed miserably. Eames bit back the urge to laugh as she switched off the lights and got into her own bed.

"You know you stink at looking repentant."

"Only to you."

"I just know you too well."

Goren grinned in the darkness.

"We've been down _this_ road before."

Eames grunted and rolled over onto her right side, facing away from him.

"Yes, and we're not revisiting it now. Goodnight, Bobby."

Her tone was final. Goren smiled again to himself as he settled down into the soft bed.

"Goodnight, Alex."

* * *

Goren awoke to absolute darkness. At first, nothing at all registered in his conscious mind. Then, he heard a faint, muffled sob close by and, for just a split second his memories took his back to those first moments of awareness in that concrete room. His breath seized in his throat and his heart rate shot sky-high before he remembered he was safe in bed in a hotel in Denton, England, and not in that room in Erik Mathers' cabin. He and Eames were both safe…

There was that muffled sob again, finally snapping him fully awake.

Sitting up, Goren turned on the lamplight and looked across at Eames. She was twisting around in bed, caught up in the throes of some nightmare.

Without hesitating, Goren climbed out of bed and limped over to her side. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, and reached across to grasp her right shoulder.

"Alex, wake up."

Eames' eyes snapped open as his forceful tone cut through her consciousness and brought her sharply back into awareness. She stared up at him for a long moment, her eyes wide with fear and distress and her cheeks wet with tears shed in her sleep.

Then, abruptly, she broke down in a flood of tears. Goren hugged her protectively, his arms folded gently around her slim body. He made no effort to tell her it was okay, or to murmur any sort of reassurance. Instead, he just held her as she cried softly into his shoulder.

Only when her sobs had quietened, and her body ceased to tremble, did Goren finally draw back a little and look down at her.

"You okay?"

She nodded slowly.

"I think so. Thanks."

"So what was it about? Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't especially, but they didn't operate like that. Total honesty and openness with each other had ruled their relationship for the last five months, even if that meant sharing the details of a nightmare at two o'clock in the morning.

"We… We were back in the cabin… Only this time, we didn't see him coming back. He caught by… by surprise. Then he shot… he shot you with one of those damned arrows. I watched you die! He made me watch you die, and then he was going to shoot me, too… Then you woke me up…"

He hugged her again as she once more dissolved into tears. The nightmare she'd just described was a familiar enough scenario to him. God knew he'd had plenty of similar ones himself, each one as horrific and terrifying as the last. Their individual shrinks had assured them the nightmares would fade with time, but so far no such luck. Virtually every night their sleep was plagued by often frightening, always disturbing dreams that regularly erupted into full-blown nightmares.

Their routine every morning never varied. They would meet and, over two cups of very strong coffee, share the details of whatever dreams or nightmares they'd had through the night. And, at least once a week, one of them would invariably be driven to wake the other in the middle of the night after a particularly horrific nightmare.

Goren shut his eyes, resting his cheek gently against the top of her head. Like tonight. Eames shuddered a little in his arms, and spoke in a small voice.

"Do you think we could… maybe… share the big bed?"

He didn't speak, but rather slid off her bed and moved back to his own, drawing her with him.

They settled down close together under the blankets, arms wrapped carefully around each other, each one grateful for the familiar and reassuring contact. They fell asleep at much the same time, neither one bothering to take the time or effort to turn off the bed lamp.

* * *


	4. Beginning The Investigation

_James Street Hotel,  
Denton_

Deakins was already in the lobby when Goren and Eames came down the next morning. He eyed them critically before speaking.

"Sleep all right?"

"What you mean is, did we sleep at all?" Eames retorted. "Strangely enough, yes. We managed to get through the night relatively okay."

Deakins sensed there was more to that comment than he was reading on the surface, but opted to leave it alone. More so now than ever before, there were aspects of Goren and Eames' relationship that he simply couldn't comprehend. He was not going to disrupt anything unnecessarily by asking questions that he knew damned well that he was not going to get an answer to. At least, not a satisfactory one.

"DI Frost should be here soon. It's almost eight o'clock."

"As long as he comes, and not that idiot Mullett," Goren muttered. "We wasted enough time last night with him."

Deakins had to smile. "Now, Bobby, why do you think I came alone? And don't say it was to baby-sit you two."

"I think," Eames murmured, "that if you can keep Mullett off all our backs, we won't be the only ones grateful. I think Jack will appreciate it, as well."

Deakins nodded obligingly. "I'll do what I can. Here he comes."

They all looked to see Jack just coming through the revolving glass doors into the lobby. He spotted them almost immediately, and strode over.

"Suit and tie?" Jack commented, eyeing Goren with a wry smile. "Mullett might yet decide that he likes you, Bobby."

Goren grinned, noting with amusement that Jack appeared to be wearing the same clothes he'd had on the night before.

"I see you go for the rumpled look."

Jack shrugged, returning Goren's smile.

"Yes, well, as much as I love ironing, I do tend to find there are somewhat more important issues to attend to. Ready, are we?"

"We're ready," Deakins confirmed.

"All right, then. Let's move, shall we?"

* * *

"I'll give you fair warning," Jack told them as he drove them to Denton CID. "Mullett informed me earlier this morning that he intends on debriefing you himself. That will probably mean an hour or more of listening to him pretending that he knows something about the case."

"Captain…?" Eames asked Deakins pleadingly. Deakins rolled his eyes, knowing precisely what she wanted from him.

"All right, I'll see what I can do. But you owe me."

Goren grunted. "Just add it to the list."

"So what's the best course of action?" Eames asked as they came in sight of the CID building. Jack pulled up at the curb, on the opposite side of the road.

"If you want to avoid Mullett, then let me call one of my offsiders and find out where the ambush is."

Eames and Goren grinned openly, while Deakins tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement by looking away out the window. Jack picked up his cell phone, and dialled a memorised number. It was answered almost immediately.

"George here, Jack. Where the blazes are you? Mullett's almost ready to have a fit."

Jack grimaced.

"Strangely enough, I'm not surprised. Just tell me one thing. What's the best way to come in if I was wanting to avoid Mr Mullett altogether?"

There was a brief silence, and then George spoke again incredulously.

"What did you do, go and lose our American friends?"

"Not exactly. Let's just say that they got more than earful of Mullett last night, and they'd prefer to avoid a second helping. And so would I."

There was a sound strangely like choked laughter that they all heard quite clearly before George responded.

"All right, Jack, keep your shirt on. Mullett's waiting for you to come in by the back way. If you really want to avoid him, come in through the front."

"You had better be right, George," Jack growled. "Because if you aren't, and we run into Mullett before we're ready, my face will be the last thing you'll be wanting to see today."

Jack ended the call abruptly before George had a chance to reply, then manoeuvred the car across the road into the CID car park.

* * *

True to George's word, Mullett was nowhere to be seen when they entered the CID building. After collecting their temporary IDs, Jack took them up in the elevator and finally into the sanctity of the task room, where all the case information was currently laid out.

"Congratulations, Jack," George said wryly as he came in behind them. "You got this far undetected. But you ought to know that Mullett just came back from the cafeteria, and he saw your car in the lot. He knows you're here somewhere."

"Wonderful," Jack muttered. Eames looked across at Deakins and smiled sweetly.

"Your turn to be a hero."

Deakins shook his head.

"I am going to collect on this particular debt, I promise you." He paused, his expression turning serious. "I want to be kept informed about everything. All right?"

"Don't worry," Goren promised sincerely. He paused, then added, "Just don't start phoning us fourteen times a day."

Deakins shot Goren a death glare. Jack spoke quickly, making brief introductions as a means to dissolve the tension.

"George, this is Captain Deakins, and Detectives Bobby Goren and Alex Eames. I'd like to introduce Detective Sergeant George Toolan, one of my more trusted associates. George, show Captain Deakins to Mr Mullett's office, would you? He's kindly offered to run interference for the rest of us so we can get on with things."

George regarded Deakins with genuine surprise, but managed somehow to recover and move towards the door.

"Right… This way, Sir. I, ah… I suppose you do know what you're letting yourself in for?"

Deakins smiled ruefully.

"Unfortunately, I think I do."

George looked back at Jack.

"Jack, I hope you're offering some sort of compensation…?"

Jack glared at George, then finally turned back to Goren and Eames once George and Deakins had gone.

"All right, then. Where would you like to start?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later George returned to report their plan was a success. With a practised smoothness, Deakins had stopped Mullett from chasing after Jack and was now currently suffering Mullett's many theories on the spate of murders.

"We really are going to owe for this one," Eames said ruefully where she sat examining pages of reports on the murders. Jack smiled a small, cunning smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too worried. Just look at it this way. Mullett will keep your captain sufficiently occupied that he won't be phoning you… what was it you said, fourteen times a day?"

George regarded the detectives with surprise.

"Fourteen times a day? Seriously?"

"It's a long story," Goren said simply. George looked questioningly to Jack, who completely ignored him.

"What do you think?" he asked as Goren pushed one file aside and reached for another. "Any similarities to your, ah… your case?"

"Plenty of similarities," Goren confirmed. "You definitely have a copycat here. Now the question is, how can we tie him in with Erik Mathers?"

"We brought our completely case files with us," Eames said, indicating the heavy porta file that Deakins had carried in. "When we left, our office was still trying to compile other information on Mathers, like where he went to school. Anything even remotely connecting him to England would help."

"A pen pal," Jack mused, "or perhaps some time spent over here. That would help quite a bit. All right. George and I will start looking through your case files, then…"

Both Goren and Eames looked up simultaneously at Jack, their expressions almost identical. Jack took one look at them, and realised what was wrong. The complete case files on Erik Mathers would, of course, include all that had happened to the two detectives.

"Here…" Jack opened the case, thumbed quickly through and pulled three thick files out and handed them to George, speaking in what he hoped was a casual tone. "You start with the first three victims. I'll start with the most recent couple, all right?"

George nodded amiably and took the files from Jack, oblivious to the looks shared between Jack and their two guests.

* * *

"Bloody hell…"

Goren, Eames and George all looked up together as Jack swore vehemently not five minutes later.

"Everything all right, Guv?" George queried. Jack nodded, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the files in front of him.

"Yes, just fine. George, why don't you get us some tea and coffee? I think this may take a while."

With the air of one resigned to performing menial tasks, George went to do as asked. Jack waited until he was gone, then looked back to Goren and Eames.

"I'm sorry," he apologised sincerely. "When you told me last night what had happened to you, I never imagined just how bad it actually was."

Eames started out of her chair, but sat back down very abruptly when she caught a glimpse of the photos in front of Jack.

"I'd forgotten those were in there."

Goren peered across as well, only to shudder a little and look quickly away again. It was difficult enough looking at pictures of other victims' wounds without seeing pictures of their own.

Jack looked back down, his stomach churning as he flipped slowly through the thick pile of photos. There were a considerable number that were of the interior and exterior of Mathers' cabin, and of the weaponry used by Mathers. Many, though, were of the horrific injuries sustained by both detectives.

Jack carefully sorted the photos into two piles. In one pile he placed all the photos that in any way identified Goren and Eames as the victims, and slipped them carefully back into the file. The other pile, photos of the cabin and the weaponry, he pushed across for George to look at when he returned.

Then, he began looking carefully through the typed files relating to Goren and Eames' ordeal.

There were separate statements from each detective, and each statement was at least seven or eight pages long. The followed reports by the investigating officers, forensics reports… The volume of paper seemed endless. A hell of a lot of people had been involved in the search for and rescue of Bobby Goren and Alex Eames, Jack realised grimly.

Resisting the urge to look at the visitors, Jack picked up Goren's statement, and began to read.

* * *

"It's cold."

Jack looked up slowly from the bundle of papers his nose had been buried in to find Hazel Wallace sitting opposite him. She smiled at his obvious confusion.

"That cup of tea, Guv. It's stone cold. I'll warm it up for you, if you like."

Finally, Jack realised what she was talking about. Completely engrossed in the papers in front of him, he'd let the tea George had brought him go cold and, totally oblivious, had just picked up the cup and taken a sip.

"Oh… Ah, no thanks, Hazel. No, it's all right."

"Bit of an odd pair, aren't they?"

Again, Jack was caught off-guard and left momentarily confused. Then, when he looked, he realised Goren and Eames were gone. Another glance, this time towards the clock, revealed nearly two hours had passed since he'd started reading the case files on Erik Mathers' last two intended victims. Two hours had passed and he was only halfway through the notes and reports about Goren and Eames' abduction by Erik Mathers.

"How do you mean, odd?"

"Well, him with a leg brace, and her arm in a brace as well. They don't exactly appear to be conventional, do they?"

"Don't be too quick to judge, Hazel. I think you'll find that they're both quite intelligent. I think it's going to prove very beneficial to have them here after all."

"You've changed you tune, haven't you?"

"Yes, well, it does happen occasionally. Do you know where they've gone, by the way?"

"Yes. Their captain came and got them a half hour or so ago. Something about this evening's appointment having to be moved forward, whatever that's about. They certainly didn't seem happy about it, but they went anyway. Mullett was with them… I think he was taking them to Denton Hospital."

Jack sucked in his breath sharply. Denton Hospital… He thought of the braces that both detectives wore. There was a rehabilitation and physiotherapy wing at Denton Hospital…

Closing the thick file and shoving it under his arm, Jack stood and headed for the door.

"I'm going to go and meet them at Denton Hospital."

"Do you want me to come with you, Guv…?"

"No," Jack said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Stay here and keep reading through those other files. I'll probably be back in a few hours."

* * *

_Denton Hospital_

Jack arrived at the hospital and was directed promptly to the rehab wing by the nurse on duty at the front desk. His suspicions were confirmed as he rounded a corner to find Mullett waiting in the corridor.

"Jack?" Mullett asked in surprise as Jack approached. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find Detective Goren and Detective Eames. They are here, aren't they?"

Mullett stared at Jack, at a loss for what to say or do.

"It's all right, Sir," Jack reassured him. "I know what happened to them. They told me about it last night, after we finished dinner. When Hazel told me you were bringing them here to Denton Hospital, I gathered it was probably for physiotherapy." Jack nodded towards the closed door of the physio room. "Both in there, are they?"

Mullett nodded, relaxing visibly in his seat. Jack was silent for a moment, carefully considering his next words.

"If you like, Sir, I'll stay here and wait for them. I'm sure you have quite a lot to do back at the office."

Mullett coughed. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You're certain you don't mind?"

"Oh, no, not at all, Sir. I brought some of their case files with me, so I think I can keep myself occupied. You go on back to the office, Sir."

"Thankyou, Jack. That's much appreciated."

Jack watched as Mullett disappeared around the corner, then sank into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief. With another glance at the closed door of the physio room, he opened the file he'd brought with him, and began to read again.

* * *

A short time later, Jack was interrupted in his reading his cell phone rang. He answered it, mildly annoyed at the interruption.

"Frost, here."

"Jack, it's George. Thought you might like to know, we've just received on the fax all the known history on the American chap, Erik Mathers."

"Well, what are doing blathering to me? Get to work and read it!"

"That's just it, Guv. We don't need to. Some kind soul has gone to the trouble of doing that for us. There's a section that's been circled. It seems that about eight years ago, this Mr Mathers was here in Denton, attending the local university on some sort of exchange program. He was here for one year."

Jack drew in a long breath. One year spent at the local university would have been plenty of time for someone as sick as Mathers to work their way into another person's mind.

"All right, George. Get on the phone, and call the Dean of the university. Tell him I'll be around there to speak with him with our American friends in a couple of hours. And tell him it would be quite helpful if he could dig out all the records the place has for one Mr Erik Mathers."

"Consider it done, Jack."

"All right. Thankyou, George. I'll speak to you later."

Ending the call, Jack stood up and walked into the physio room.

* * *

"Wrong. You suck at this, Bobby. Why don't you just quit now? You're never going to catch up."

"Don't get cocky. You're only three ahead of me. If I start asking hard questions, you won't find it so easy."

Jack halted in the doorway, caught by surprise. Across the floor, Bobby and Alex sat facing each other while individual physiotherapists worked on their respective injuries. They were engaged in a fairly feisty discussion, if it could be called that.

Looking around, he spotted Deakins sitting off to the side, watching the scene before them with a bemused smile. He joined the captain, curious to know just what was going on.

"They do this every time they have physio together," Deakins explained in a low, confidential tone as Jack sat next to him. "I suppose it's one way to distract themselves, but the last time they ended up in a roaring argument and wouldn't talk to each other for the rest of the day."

"And what, exactly, are they doing?" Jack wondered.

"Their own personal version of twenty questions. Goren told me that it started when they were up on that mountain. One of them… I don't know who… accused the other of not knowing as much about them as they thought. Now it's turned into this."

Jack turned his gaze back to the detectives in time to hear Alex ask Bobby a question.

"What did I study at college?"

Bobby's face lit up.

"You didn't study anything. You went on a road trip with your brother after finishing high school, and when you got back you went straight into the Police Academy."

"Damn," Alex grumped. "Philip must have told you that, because I sure didn't.

Bobby grinned. "I don't name my sources."

"Smart ass. Okay, ask your damn question."

"Okay. How old was I when I quit the army?"

Alex's face creased in a frown.

"Um… You're forty-four now… You've been in the Force for sixteen years… I know you were in the army for eight years… Oh, I don't know. Twenty-eight?"

The triumphant grin on his face told her she was wrong.

"Twenty-five. I had a three year gap between leaving the army behind and joining the Police Force."

Alex frowned as she quickly did the math.

"But that would mean…"

"I was seventeen when I joined the army," he confirmed. "I was so desperate to get away from home that I doctored my birth certificate and lied about my age. I fixed it up again before I joined the Police Academy."

Alex sighed.

"Okay, fine. You win that one. Ask another one."

Over by the wall, Jack shook his head and looked back to Deakins.

"We have a lead."

Deakins' attention was instantly and completely on Jack.

"Talk to me."

Jack was momentarily taken aback by the sharp interest in Deakins' expression. It was a considerable contrast to the vague confusion that he usually got from Mullett. Recovering from his surprise, he told Deakins about the call from George.

"So he was here for a while," Deakins mused. "One year… Who knows what friendships he might have struck up. You're going to go out there?"

"Yes. It was eight years ago, but hopefully they still have records from when Mathers attended."

Deakins nodded his approval.

"Anything they've got would be a good starting point for us. What classes he took, whether he stayed on campus, who he roomed with. Maybe there are still some people in the area that knew him then."

Jack raised an eyebrow slightly. "Aside from our killer."

Deakins smiled grimly. "Aside from, or including."

After a moment's hesitation, Jack asked the question that had been on his mind since Mullett had first told him that the Americans were coming.

"Do you mind me asking, how exactly did you lot get wind of what was happening in our little corner of the universe?"

"An email was sent to Goren's computer," Deakins explained. "It included pictures of your first three victims. They weren't police photos."

"Pictures of the victims dead, you mean."

"Yes. At first we thought they must have been three of Mathers' original eleven victims from Florida, but after a bit of digging we learned about the Denton killings."

"So we could reasonably assume that these pictures were sent by the killer…" Jack murmured. He trailed off as his mind came to the logical conclusion, and he turned a hard stare on Deakins. "You did take into consideration the possibility that the killer was deliberately trying to lure them here?"

"We know that's a possibility. Goren and Eames took it into consideration when they made the decision to come."

"They decided, or someone else did?"

"It was their choice," Deakins insisted. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

Jack nodded slowly, feeling oddly placated.

"All right. It's starting to look seriously as though this fellow is more than a simple copycat. There is a very good chance that he was friends with Mr Mathers eight years ago, in which case it's quite likely that he is simply picking up from where Mathers left off. Which might not necessarily bode very well for Bobby and Alex."

Jack glanced sideways at Deakins. The other man's pale features spoke louder than any words, telling Jack that Deakins was all-too-aware of that possibility. He looked back at Jack, a haunted look in his grey eyes.

"Why do you think I insisted on coming with them, Inspector? I don't doubt their capability, but every time they're out of my sight now, I start having anxiety attacks."

"Fourteen phone calls a day," Jack murmured. Deakins nodded.

"Yes, guilty as charged. But it's either that or I chain them to their desks. We all have our own personal traumas to live with, Inspector Frost. This happens to be mine. Over-protectiveness, if you will."

"I think I understand," Jack murmured. "Somehow, though, I don't believe they'll allow themselves to be taken by surprise like that again."

"I know," Deakins agreed. "I can't express how proud I am that they had the courage to come here at all. Believe me, Inspector, it really is a big deal that they were able to take that step."

Jack stared at the file in his hands.

"Now, let's hope that the university records turn up a name or two that we can follow up on."

Their discussion was very suddenly interrupted when Eames erupted with a loud and indignant protest.

"No! No way, Bobby! That's not a fair question! How the hell am I supposed to know that? I'd just had a baby, remember? I was still in hospital, for crying out loud!

Goren looked unrepentant.

"So you're allowed to ask about the Baxter case, but I can't ask that? I was in hospital for _that_, in case you'd forgotten. Fair's fair, Alex."

Eames glared at him. "Yeah, after getting shot by a suspect who got sick of you being in his face. But I'll tell you what the difference is, _pal_. When I came back to work, I didn't go prying into all the case files you'd worked on while I was away. When _you_ came back after being shot, you read the Baxter file from cover to cover! So no, it's not fair."

"Oh, c'mon," Goren shot back. "What the hell did you talk to Bishop about all that time you two spent at the local bar if you didn't talk about our cases?"

"What? You're assuming now that neither of us had a life outside the job to talk about? Well, you know something, Bobby? Screw you."

Goren glowered right back at her.

"I never assumed anything. You're putting words in my mouth now. But then, you've always been good at that, haven't you?"

Eames went red with anger, and looked around furiously for something to throw at him. Her physiotherapist moved quickly back, out of reach, taking his equipment with him.

"Okay," Deakins muttered, getting up quickly. "Time to put a dampener on things."

Even as Jack watched, Deakins strode across the floor and placed himself squarely between the feuding partners.

"Enough, you two. Listen up, we have a lead. Mathers spent twelve months at Denton University eight years ago. As soon as you two are done here, you'll head out to the university with Jack, and see what information you can get."

The argument almost instantly forgotten, Eames got up and followed Deakins back over to where Jack waited.

"Twelve months here at the local college? That's a start."

Goren joined them, moving noticeably easier and quicker than he had been before the physio session.

"Let's go, then."

"Drop me back at CID Headquarters," Deakins told them. "I'll keep looking through the rest of those case files and see whether they turn up anything of interest."

"All right, then," Jack agreed. "Let's go."

* * *

"If you don't mind me saying so," Jack commented as he drove them out to the university, "the two of you don't exactly have a conventional partnership."

Eames laughed. "Even before what happened with Mathers, I don't think we had what you'd call a conventional partnership. But it was more…"

"Professional," Goren interjected, and Eames nodded in agreement.

"Right. More outwardly professional than it is now. Before, Bobby only ever called me Eames. He only ever calls me that now if he's trying to piss me off."

"It's just, you were arguing quite ferociously before," Jack pointed out cautiously, not particularly wanting to be responsible for initiating a new argument. To his surprise and relief, both detectives laughed aloud.

"There is method in that madness," Goren reassured him. "The physio isn't exactly painless…"

"I imagine it wouldn't be," Jack conceded.

"In fact," Eames stated, "it hurts like hell. Especially for Bobby."

"We started that little game of ours when we were on the mountain," Goren explained. "It helped to keep us distracted from the pain…"

"Which was considerable," Eames added in a subdued voice. Goren nodded in agreement.

"Now we use it whenever we have physio together, which tends to be at least once a week…"

"Or whenever one of us happens to be in a particularly bad amount of pain," Eames finished. Jack glanced first at Goren, and then in the rear view mirror at Eames.

"Do you do that often? Finish off each other's sentences, I mean."

Eames grinned broadly.

"Oh, every…"

"So often," Goren concluded, an equally big grin on his own face. Jack couldn't hold back his own smile.

"Suspects must absolutely love the two of you."

"Wait until you see Bobby in action in the interrogation room," Eames said with a distinct touch of pride in her voice. "He's a master at psychological manipulation."

"Oh, we have an amateur psychologist here, do we?" Jack asked in amusement.

"He's no amateur," Eames said, her voice taking on a tone of absolute seriousness.

"I studied psychology while I was in the army, and again when I joined the Police," Goren explained when Jack looked at him questioningly. "It's an interesting subject, and it's helped me get inside the heads of a lot of killers."

Jack grunted. "Well, as long as you can get back out again, eh?"

"Believe me," Eames retorted, "I've wondered, sometimes."

* * *

George had done his job. The Dean of Denton University, Professor David Graham, was ready to receive them when they arrived, and they were ushered straight into his office.

"You're here about one of our past students, a Mr Erik Mathers, so DS Toolan informed me."

Jack nodded. "Yes. Any information at all you have on him would be quite useful."

Graham smiled a little. He had dealt with the Inspector before and, although Jack's tone was genial enough, he knew that in reality he was not being given a choice. He'd already worked out a way around it, though.

"Now, Inspector Frost, you know very well that our student records are confidential. Whether it's regarding a past student or a present one, I can't allow you to simply take those files without some sort of warrant."

Graham reached out and patted a file sitting on his desk, clearly marked with the name 'Mathers'. He went on, just a hint of a smile still on his face.

"Now, as it happens, I was able to locate the records of the young man in questions, but unless you have a warrant…?"

"You know bloody well that we don't," Jack growled. "Not yet, at least."

Graham nodded.

"Yes, I know, and until you do…"

The intercom crackled to life, and the secretary's voice echoed over the speaker.

"Sorry to interrupted, Professor Graham, but I'm afraid the computers are acting up again."

Graham offered his guests an apologetic smile as he got up.

"I'm sorry, would you excuse me? My secretary is really very bright, but not terribly keen on computers in general. The last time something went wrong, it took me nearly twenty minutes to work out what it was that she'd done, so this might take a little bit of time." He paused in the doorway, then added, "The photocopier is over there in the corner, Inspector Frost."

They watched as Graham closed the door after him, and then Jack got up and grabbed the file off the desk.

"Well, that was an invitation, if ever I've heard one."

Eames followed Jack over to the copier and, when he hesitated, she took the papers and loaded them into the auto-feed and then hit start. Minutes later, they had three copies of Erik Mathers' file safely tucked away inside Goren's notebook, and the original file back in its place on Graham's desk. They had each only just sat back down when Graham walked back in, and sat down once more.

"Turned out to be a fairly simple issue, thankfully. Now, as I was saying, if you wish to take this particular file with you, you will need a warrant. I can, however, provide you with one small piece of knowledge. After looking through the file myself, what I can tell you is that one of the subjects undertaken by Mr Mathers was a stylised version of human psychology."

"Stylised in what way?" Goren asked.

"In that the lecturer focused on studying human nature at its most base level. If you want to speak to someone who might remember Mr Mathers, then I suggest you start with the lecturer who took that subject."

"Can you get us a name and current contact details?" Jack asked.

"I can do better than that," Graham answered. "The lecturer was Amon Bohen, and right now he'll be wrapping up a lecture in the Owen Carter Lecture Theatre."

"He still teaches here?" Eames asked in surprise.

"Oh, yes. Teachers with his experience are not easy to come by these days. We try to hang on to the ones we have while we can. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to the theatre. I can't guarantee he'll be willing to talk to you, but I won't keep you from trying, either."

* * *

They arrived at the lecture theatre just as a tall, heavily built, black-haired man emerged.

"Amon, could you spare a few minutes?" Graham asked. "These officers would like to ask you about one of your past students, if you're willing to talk to them."

Bohen turned to face them, a wry smile on his lips.

"Of course I'm willing to talk to the police, but I deal with hundreds of students. I find it near to impossible to remember all of them, let alone any one student that's taken one of my subjects in the past."

"This particular student was here about eight years ago," Eames explained. "He was here for twelve months as part of an exchange program. His name was Erik Mathers."

Jack, Bobby and Alex all expected Bohen to deny knowing the name, but to their surprise he nodded slowly, recognition lighting up his face.

"Erik Mathers… Yes, I remember Mr Mathers, funnily enough." He paused, his gaze flickering first to Bobby and then Alex. More specifically, to his leg brace, and her arm brace. "Perhaps we could go somewhere a little more private…?"

* * *

A short time later, they sat in a smaller study room.

"I do remember Erik Mathers," Bohen confirmed. "Not least of which is because of his… recent exploits. Oh, don't look so suspicious, Detectives. I make a point of following world news. What else is the Internet for, after all, if not to keep up with what is happening outside the cosy little squares in which we live? When one of my former students is shot dead by police after abducting and torturing two police detectives, it's something of an attention-getter." Bohen looked pointedly from Goren to Eames. "And I'm deducing that you two would be the unlucky pair that fell victim to Mr Mathers. Am I right?"

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks, neither one bothering to answer. Bohen smiled sympathetically.

"The leg and the arm braces were something of a give-away. Do you mind me asking what happened? The reports I read were conflicting."

"It was an accident," Eames said bluntly. "What do you remember about Mathers?"

"Right," Bohen murmured. "Of course, you want to know about Mr Mathers. I suppose it would be stereotypical to say he was very quiet and shy, but the truth is that I don't really know what he was like. At least, not socially speaking. I do remember him as being very animated in my classes, though. Very enthusiastic. He was quite interested in primitive human nature. I recall he came to me once to discuss topics that he would take on for his thesis when he returned to the US."

"What sort of topics did he discuss with you?" Jack asked.

"He seemed most interested in drawing comparisons between the primitive natures of man and beast."

"The desire to hunt and kill prey," Goren interjected. Bohen nodded.

"Yes, something like that. His theories were quite interesting. He surmised that, given the right circumstances and stimulus, a man will dispense with the social graces ingrained in his from childhood, and revert to the primitive nature that has been part of our DNA since mankind first walked the Earth. I was interested, of course, but such a theory would be next to impossible to gather any evidence to prove."

"Perhaps," Jack said coolly, "but he certainly tried, didn't he?"

Bohen looked around at each of them questioningly.

"What is this about, exactly? I thought Erik Mathers was dead, that he was shot by a police officer?"

"He was," Goren said, with more than just a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

"Then why are you asking about him?"

"Do you recall whether he was friends with anyone in particular? Jack asked, completely side-stepping Bohen's question. "Anyone that he perhaps showed up to lectures with on a regular basis?"

Bohen was starting to look irritated.

"As I've already said, I didn't know him socially. He came to my classes, and met with me for one-on-one tutorials. I don't recall him being especially close to anyone in my class, but mine was not the only class he took, either." He paused, then went on in a more subdued tone. "I'm well aware that I may have provided Erik with inspiration, but I would never have encouraged his studies if I'd so much as an inkling about the path he'd take. I know this might seem a contradictory stance considering what I teach, but I really do abhor violence in any form. What Erik did to all those people… and to the two of you, was unconscionable."

Jack glanced at Goren and Eames, then spoke again grimly.

"Professor Bohen, the reason we're asking you about Erik Mathers is because it appears someone is copycatting him."

Bohen stared at Jack, openly horrified.

"Here, you mean? In Denton?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. We have four victims so far, and we'd like to catch the sick bastard before another body turns up. We believe the current killer quite likely knew Erik Mathers when he was here eight years ago."

"I see," Bohen murmured. "I'm really sorry, but I just can't help you. All I do know is that he lived here, on campus, in a two-bedroom apartment. I know he had a roommate… I did see them together once, but I couldn't give you a name."

"That's all right, Professor," Jack said, getting up. "You've been quite helpful. Thankyou, and we may be in touch if we need to speak to you again."

Bohen nodded amiably.

"Anytime. I'm glad to help."

* * *

"So what do you think?" Jack asked aloud once they were away from Bohen's office. Goren looked thoughtful.

"He was lying about not knowing Mathers beyond the classroom situation. Did you see the way he kept flicking his thumb against his index finger? He was nervous. Especially when you told him about the copycat."

Jack looked at Goren in surprise, then back to Eames, who smiled and shrugged.

"He's hyper vigilant. You get used to it."

"Somehow I doubt that," Jack muttered.

"We need to get back and go through those files we copied in Graham's office," Eames said firmly. "See if we can get a name to this roommate."

They were interrupted by the ringing of Jack's phone. Grimacing, Jack answered the call.

"Frost, here… Yes, Hazel, we're still at the university. We were just about to head… What? Where…? All right. We'll meet them out there."

He ended the call, then looked grimly across at Goren and Eames.

"Another body has just turned up."

* * *

_Denton Woods_

"Three victims spread out over a period of five weeks," Jack said tersely, "and then two in less than a week. I have to say that I'm starting to feel seriously worried about this situation."

They made their way through long grass and tall trees, over rocky, uneven ground into the outskirts of Denton Woods, where the body had been found.

"Bloody hell," Jack growled as they finally came upon the grim scene. "It's just a kid…"

Neither Goren nor Eames moved or spoke, their gazes fixed on the body before them.

The dead boy was no older than seventeen or eighteen, and he had been found wearing nothing but a dirty, torn pair of shorts. His flesh was ivory white, with a blue tinge to his lips, cheeks and fingers. His body was peppered with puncture wounds of various sizes that were only too familiar to Goren and Eames.

Worst was the expression frozen onto his lifeless face. His dying expression was one of pure and absolute terror.

"His lips are tinged with blue," Goren murmured as his investigative instincts kicked in. "He's been out here for a couple of nights. The killer is following the same pattern as Erik Mathers."

"Not quite the same," Eames corrected, not moving from where she stood. "This kid came too soon after the last victim. Mathers dealt with each of his victims over a period of a week, and usually left a week or two between killing one victim, and abducting the next. This killer is way too eager. He must have had this kid on ice while he was dealing with the previous victim."

"Or," Goren pointed out quietly, "he took them together, and released them together. Like Mathers did with… with his last two victims."

"Oh god," Eames groaned softly, shaking her head at the unwanted reminder, "I hope not."

Collecting a pair of gloves from a surprised Forensics officer, Goren made his way over to the body, curiosity momentarily overcoming his own personal traumas. Using his cane for balance, he bent down as low as he could to examine the wounds on the victim's body.

Jack looked on with an expression akin to disbelief on his face before looking questioningly to Eames.

"Does he always like to get up this close and personal to dead bodies?"

Eames smiled a little, and inclined her head towards Goren who was stretching down to poke lightly at a laceration on the victim's arm.

"If you think that's odd, just wait until we get back to the morgue. He drives our Medical Examiner up the wall. Just can't keep his hands to himself."

"I see," Jack murmured, frowning a little. In all his time with CID, he had yet to encounter a constable or detective who was willing to be 'hands-on' with a dead body. As far as he knew, Goren was definitely one of a kind in that department, and he wasn't sure what to think of it.

Eames smiled to herself, taking in Jack's puzzled look with amusement, but said nothing more.

"There's something under the fingernails," Goren announced to no one in particular. "Looks like it could be skin particles… He may have had a chance to fight his attacker. We need to get samples of that…"

He tried to lean down further still, only to overbalance and nearly tumble right over. He was save from a potentially nasty fall only by a strong pair of hands grabbing him by the shoulder and by the belt, keeping him upright.

"Thanks," Goren muttered, his face flushing red. Jack nodded, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes, well, perhaps you'd be better off waiting until we do get the body back to the morgue, hmm?"

As Jack moved off to speak to one of the officers at the scene, Goren glanced back at Eames, who stared back at him reproachfully. His flush deepened as he rejoined her.

"I know," he mumbled. "Be more careful…"

She laid a firm hand on his forearm, and squeezed affectionately.

"Just you remember that, pal, because if you do fall, it'll be the paramedics picking you up, not me or Jack."

Sufficiently chastised, Goren stood back with Eames, watching everything with intense interest and an eagle eye.

* * *

"Those are the two coppers from America, huh?"

Jack glanced up at WPC Andrew Winters, a slight frown on his face at what he sensed was a deliberately mocking tone. Winters went on, oblivious to the dangerous look he was getting from Jack.

"Not really what any of us expected, are they?"

"And what, exactly, _did_ you expect?" Jack asked coldly. Winters shrugged.

"Not a couple of invalids, that's for sure."

Jack, who had been examining a footprint in the soft earth, now stood up straight, coming almost nose to nose with the young officer.

"Tell me something, Andy. You're hoping for promotion soon to Detective Constable, aren't you?"

Winters faltered, startled at having one of his superior officers right in his face.

"Uh… Yes, sir…"

"Well, WPC Winters, if you're serious about obtaining that promotion, I suggest you avoid making snap judgements on people based purely on appearance. Am I making myself clear?"

Winters stared at Jack, wide-eyed.

"Yes, Guv. Sorry… I just thought… I mean…"

"What you mean, is that you didn't think," Jack snapped. "Perhaps next time you'll do us all a favour, and keep your yap shut!"

Jack stalked away, leaving the constable staring after him, dumbfounded.

* * *

"What was that about?" Eames wondered as they headed back to Jack's car. "That kid looked terrified."

Jack grunted. "I tend to have that effect on police officers that insist on acting like dimwits." He looked across at Goren, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. "I imagine the two of you would have much the same effect."

"We try not to frighten the new kids too much," Goren said with a wry smile.

"Although you should have seen him when we found a beat cop had tampered with a crime scene," Eames added with a grin. "Tore strips off the guy. Left him crying like a baby."

Goren frowned. "He deserved it. You don't mess with a murder scene just because you're worried it might offend someone's sensitivities."

Jack chuckled.

"I thought as much. Okay… The body will be delivered straight to the morgue. I take it that's where you want to go next?"

"That'd be good," Goren said. "How long before any results come back from Forensics?"

"A few hours," Jack answered. "Unfortunately, we have to do with the staff that are available. Sometimes things take a little longer than we like. If you like, we can go and get some lunch first, then pay a visit to the morgue. After that, by the time we get back to CID, some of the results should be starting to come in."

"No," Eames said firmly, before Goren had the chance to agree. "I'm not visiting the morgue straight after eating. We go there first, and _then_ get lunch."

Jack looked back at her, puzzled.

"What difference would it make, going there before or after?"

She pulled a face in Goren's direction.

"Trust me, it makes a world of difference. You'll see."

* * *

_Coroner's Office_

Half an hour later, Jack finally had the opportunity to see exactly what Eames meant. They arrived at the morgue shortly after the body had been delivered and, as per orders, it was bumped to the top of the list.

"I've got an audience today, have I?" Dr Derek Simpkins asked, eyeing Goren and Eames with mild amusement. He went on without waiting for an answer. "Had lunch yet, Jack?"

Jack glowered at Simpkins, who merely chuckled as he pulled on his gloves.

"All right, let's see what we have here…"

He trailed off, looking up in surprise as Goren approached the table. A small smile touched his lips.

"I take it you have a marginally stronger stomach than Inspector Frost, Detective…?"

"Detective Goren. Do you mind…?" Goren indicated a spare pair of latex gloves on the trolley with the instruments. Simpkins looked even more surprised, but nodded in compliance.

"Be my guest."

Goren snapped on the gloves, and promptly bent in close to look at the tips of the victim's fingers, and beneath the nails. Simpkins stared at Goren, taken aback, then looked up at Jack and Eames.

"Is he, uh… Is he always this enthusiastic?"

"Usually he's pushier than that," Eames answered flippantly. "You're lucky he actually asked first. But if you think this is strange, wait until he starts sniffing at the body."

"_Sniffing_?" Jack echoed incredulously. Eames smiled and shrugged lopsidedly.

"What can I say? He's got the nose of a bloodhound."

Recovering quickly from his own astonishment, Simpkins returned his attention to the body before him, and was soon engaged in a thorough examination.

"This lad wasn't killed by puncture wounds like the rest of them," Simpkins announced as he examined the skull. Goren moved around to look at what Simpkins was seeing, then nodded in agreement.

"The back of his skull was stoved in," Simpkins went on. "Very violent and very abrupt."

"You're saying someone hit him in the back of the head hard enough to crack his head open?" Jack asked.

"Not exactly," Goren murmured. He indicated a spot on the side of the boy's head, and Simpkins leaned in for a closer look, then nodded again.

"I see… This bruising on the sides of the head… I'd guess that whoever killed him did so by holding his head… Detective, do you mind…?"

Goren nodded his consent, and Simpkins reached up to hold both sides of Goren's head so that Jack and Eames were both able to see.

"Held the boy's head like this… And then smashed it backwards, probably against a rock."

"Which mean he had to be pinned to the ground," Eames murmured. Goren nodded.

"If the killer is operating the same way as Erik Mathers, he probably gave each of his victims a time frame to try and escape him. I'm betting that this kid survived that time frame…"

"And this is the reward he got for it," Eames finished off, anger in her voice. "Son of a bitch…"

"Let's hope the evidence taken from under his fingernails was a result of him scratching and fighting his killer," Jack said quietly. "God knows we need the break."

* * *


	5. New Leads

_Author's note_: The chapters may be somewhat shorter from here on, purely in the interest of providing regular updates.

To Shellster: I think you'll find the reason my my stories are not in the general listing of CI fics is because I have given them an 'M' rating. I felt this was appropriate because of the violent content of the stories. I think you will find this is the case with all the stories whose authors have decided on an 'M' rating. The one story I gave a lesser rating to can be found in the general listing - it's just a matter of scrolling through to find it.

To Juliette7179: This is the only site where you will find these stories. I have not posted them anywhere else on the internet.

* * *

After leaving the morgue and a very bemused pathologist behind, Jack took the detectives to a favourite café for lunch, where they talked over sandwiches and coffee.

"How do you do that, exactly?" Jack asked as he bit into an extraordinarily large sandwich. Goren regarded him questioningly.

"How do I do what?"

"What you did with that boy's corpse," Jack said. "I've never seen anyone but the pathologist get so… so…"

"Hands-on?" Goren suggested lightly, and Jack nodded.

"Yes, exactly. Poking and prodding at it like that… It'd be enough to ruin anyone's appetite."

Goren shrugged, unfazed by Jack's comments.

"A dead body is just evidence that needs to be examined… Like any other piece of evidence."

"Interesting theory," Jack mused. He looked at Eames, who was watching them both with an amused smile. "How about you, Alex? Does that theory work for you?"

Eames' grin widened.

"Oh, I have my own methods."

"Which are…?"

"When he starts doing really freaky things, I look the other way."

Jack favoured Goren with a wry smile.

"You're just a little bit odd, Bobby. No offence…"

Goren smiled openly.

"None taken. I've been called a lot worse. But the bottom line is, I admit that I might have strange methods, but it gets the job done. Between Alex and myself, we have the highest success rate for cases in our squad, and one of the highest in the NYPD."

Jack smiled around his sandwich.

"Well, no wonder your captain was so desperate to get you both back safely. He just didn't want to spoil his perfect record."

The comment didn't have quite the effect that Jack had intended. Rather than laughing, both Goren and Eames exchanged sobering looks. Jack swallowed hard, and spoke quickly to make amends.

"Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it?"

"It's okay," Eames murmured. "Don't mind us. Some things are still a little bit sensitive."

"I can imagine. Ah… Do you mind me asking… Just how long were you both in hospital for after you were rescued?"

"I was in hospital for six weeks," Eames said , her tone noticeably more subdued. "Bobby was there for nearly four months."

"That's a considerable difference in time," Jack commented quietly. "Were your injuries that different?"

There was a long moment of silence as Goren and Eames stared at each other, giving Jack the unnerving impression that they were somehow communicating without speaking a word. Then, finally, Goren spoke softly.

"Alex was able to go home sooner because she had family to look after her. I didn't have that… advantage, so my doctor wouldn't release me to go home until I'd completed stage two of my rehab."

Jack eyed Goren sympathetically.

"No family at all to fall back on?"

"Just my mother and my brother. My mother's more or less an invalid. My brother flat out refused to come when he was contacted."

"That's lousy," Jack muttered. Goren managed a small smile that didn't quite hide the pain in his eyes.

"It could have been worse. And the rehab wing was a little better than the main hospital."

"You mean the food was better," Jack interpreted, and Goren laughed aloud.

"Yeah, that's it."

"I should think it was better," Eames retorted. "Considering he had four or five people bringing food in for him every day on a rotating basis. What was it again, Bobby? Deakins on Monday, with a home-cooked meal from his wife… Bishop on Tuesday, with whatever take-out you asked for… My dad on Wednesday…"

"Okay," Goren grumbled. "We get the picture. Anyway, it's not like I asked for any of that. They just started bringing food in."

"Don't get all defensive," Eames told him gently. "The truth is, your doctor is really the one who was responsible for the food delivery service."

Goren stared at her in surprise. He hadn't known who was responsible for mobilising the kind souls who had brought food to the hospital for him, so this was news to him.

"Dr Evans? He arranged it?"

"He didn't actually arrange it himself. What happened was that Deakins came around to my dad's place one day while I was still there. His wife was with him, and they'd decided to stop in to see me. While they were there, Deakins told Dad that your doctor had said that you'd stopped eating. Apparently he was pretty worried. He'd told Deakins that if they couldn't get you to start eating again, they'd have to put you back onto an IV drip, and if they had to do that it'd set your rehab back in a big way. Dad said he didn't blame you for not wanting to eat the slop that the hospital dished up, and that's when Mrs Deakins said she'd start cooking extra meals for the captain to take in for you. Dad said he could take for food in for you, too, a couple of nights a week. Then it kind of snowballed from there." She grinned at Jack. "He was even getting home-cooked meals from the wife of our Assistant District Attorney, Ron Carver."

Jack chuckled. "Sounds like you never had it so good. It must have been quite a letdown when you did finally get to go home, eh?"

Goren merely smiled, but Eames laughed aloud.

"Not likely. That's another one of this boy's hidden talents. He's one hell of a good cook. He didn't suffer for want of a home-cooked meal once he got out of hospital, believe me."

"I certainly wouldn't begrudge anyone that," Jack said. "Especially since the best I can do is a fry up." He paused, taking a moment to drain the last mouthfuls from his cup of coffee, then sat back and looked across the table at the two detectives. "Well, it's been an interesting first morning. So tell me, what do you think so far of our fair city?"

"What we've seen is nice," Eames replied honestly.

"And the coffee is great," Goren added. Eames laughed.

"All the more important, because that's the only fix either of us can get at the moment, since alcohol is off-limits."

"Yes, well, it would be, wouldn't it?" Jack agreed in amusement.

"More than anything else, though," Goren went on sincerely, "we appreciate the hospitality. Truth is, we weren't expecting a very good reception when we got here. We figured our coming here would probably be seen as interference, and that we weren't going to be very welcome."

A guilty look flashed across Jack's face.

"I have a, um… a confession. When Mullett told me you were coming, I wasn't exactly… happy about it. Told him I didn't have time to baby-sit a couple of Yankee coppers."

To Jack's relief, both detectives grinned widely at that, the humour of it not lost on either of them.

"It's okay," Eames reassured him. "The point is, you at least kept an open mind when you met us. Mullett, on the other hand…"

"Mullett's a pompous windbag," Jack declared. Goren nodded.

"Well, the look on his face when we came off the plane said it all. He took one look at my leg brace, and at Alex's arm brace, and decided we weren't up to standard."

"Like I said," Jack repeated flatly, "he's a pompous twit."

"You, however, didn't make a snap judgment," Goren said as he pushed aside his now empty plate and lifted his notebook onto the table. "And that was greatly appreciated by us."

He pulled out the copies of the file they'd gotten from David Graham's office, and passed one to each of his colleagues.

"So what, precisely, are we looking for?" Jack wondered, more a question to himself than to either Goren or Eames. "Roommates…"

"Anything," Goren murmured, his attention already almost completely fixed on the file in front of him. Jack regarded him curiously for a long moment before looking at Eames. She was watching Goren with an affectionate and indulgent smile. When she realised Jack was watching her, she just shrugged.

"All a part of the charm," she said by way of explanation, knowing that by now Goren was probably so engrossed in the files that he wasn't hearing a word she said. "By the time he finishes reading that, you can be sure he'll have committed most of it to memory."

Jack regarded her in puzzlement, choosing his next words with caution.

"Sounds as though you might as well not even bother."

He meant more than just Erik Mathers' file, and she knew it.

"It's always worth the bother," she murmured. "It isn't a matter of trying to keep up with Bobby. It's more a matter of balancing things out. You wouldn't believe some of the tangents he goes off on sometimes. It really freaks out our captain. Of course, Bobby usually turns out to be right…"

"Are you two going to read, or are you happy to sit there talking about me like I can't hear you?" Goren asked, his attention still fixed firmly on the pages in front of him.

Eames and Jack exchanged amused smiles, then settled down to read their respective copies of the file.

* * *

An hour and three cups of coffee later, Jack finally surfaced from having his face buried in the files, attracting the attention of Goren and Eames by swearing loudly.

Goren looked at Jack questioningly.

"What is it?"

"Mathers' roommate," Jack said, looking distinctly unhappy.

"Thomas Moore?" Eames asked. "You know him?"

Jack nodded ruefully.

"Yes, I do. Quite well, in fact. I've nicked him before. He's got form for burglary and aggravated assault. Last I knew, he'd come back to Denton about six months ago after a stint in prison for assault with a deadly weapon."

Goren pushed the file back into his notebook, and stood up.

"Well, let's go talk to him."

* * *

"Be aware," Jack warned them as they made their way along the ground level of a squalid-looking housing estate. "Tommy Moore and the police do not have a happy acquaintanceship. There's every chance he'll try to do a runner."

"He'd better not, for his sake," Eames muttered. "We can't chase him, so if he makes us shoot him it'll be his own damned fault."

Jack couldn't smile at that. The residence of this particular estate frequently complained about police harassment, and the last thing Denton CID needed was another such complaint, especially as they always seemed to find their way to the Press. He halted outside a door and, favouring the detectives with a grim look, rapped firmly on the door.

For several seconds there was no response from within. Then, finally, the door opened part way to reveal a battle-hardened face and piercing blue eyes staring out at them. When those brown eyes saw Jack, the owner groaned loudly.

"What you want, Inspector? I ain't done nothin'."

"Relax, Tommy," Jack said as patiently as he could. "We only want to talk to you."

"About what?" Moore asked suspiciously, his gaze flickering to Goren and Eames. "And who are they?"

Eames pulled out her shield, showing it to Moore.

"I'm Detective Eames. This is Detective Goren. We need to ask you a few questions about someone that you shared a room with in college."

Moore blinked, caught off guard.

"American? What's American coppers doing here?"

"That's none of your concern, is it, Tommy?" Jack snapped. "Now, are you going to open the door, or do we have to get a warrant, come back and break it down?"

Moore scowled, but backed off, opening the door for them enter.

Contrary to the state of the building exterior, Moore's small apartment was fairly clean and tidy. Jack looked around in mild surprise before speaking.

"Been making an effort, I see."

Moore shrugged.

"It's my place. Figure there's no reason to live in a dump like everyone else here." He looked from Goren to Eames, noting their injuries with slightly more than a passing interest. "You two in an accident or something, then?"

"Or something," Eames retorted, a hard edge to her voice. Moore smirked at Jack.

"Friendly, ain't she?"

Goren moved around into Moore's line of sight, drawing his attention.

"Mr Moore, we wanted to ask you about someone you knew when you attended Denton University. A man called Erik Mathers."

Moore stared at Goren for a long moment, as though sizing him up. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah, I remember Erik. Why are you asking about him? I haven't heard from him since he went home."

"We want to know what you remember about him," Jack said.

Moore shrugged again.

"He was okay. Bit weird, but okay."

"Weird in what way?"

"Well… He wasn't much of a socialiser, was he? I tried to get him into the social scene, but he didn't like being round a lot of people. Only club he joined while he was over here was the Archery Club."

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks. The Archery Club. Go figure.

"So you're saying you didn't do much together outside of the classes you took together?"

Moore grunted. "Didn't do nothing much at all, and we only had one class together. It was some psychology thing. I dropped it after a semester, and then we didn't have any classes together. Then he went back to America after a year, and I haven't seen him again."

"What about email?" Eames asked. "Did you keep in touch that way?"

Moore turned a scathing look on her.

"Look around, lady. Does it look I have a computer here? And if I did, the coppers'd nick me for stealing it, wouldn't they, Inspector?"

"Watch it, my son," Jack growled. "Show a little bit of courtesy, or I'll nick you just for the hell of it."

Moore scowled.

"No. I ain't talked to Erik, not on the phone, not on email, and not in person. And me carrier pigeons don't fly to America, see?"

"Do you remember if there was anyone else Erik was friends with?" Goren asked. "Any particularly close friends?"

"I just said he didn't socialise much, didn't I?" Moore said impatiently. "Although… Yeah, there was one guy. I think he was someone Erik must have met at the Archery Club, because I never saw him at the university. He was an older guy. Looked maybe old enough that he could have been Erik's dad. Erik was around with him a bit. I sometimes saw them in the pub together."

"I don't suppose you remember this other man's name?" Goren queried, and Moore smirked at him.

"You'd suppose right, Detective. I never asked and Erik never told. Weren't none of my business, see."

"What do you remember of Erik specifically from the one class you did take together?" Eames asked. Moore shrugged.

"He understood it more than I did. All that psychology bull… He was real hot on it, he was. I remember he said it was going to be a big help when he got home and started working on his plan. I asked him what plan, but he never told me. I didn't care much either way."

"All right, Tommy," Jack conceded. "That'll do, for now. But don't get any ideas about going wandering, all right? We may want to talk to you again."

"Has Erik done something, then?" Moore asked as they exited the apartment. Eames ignored him entirely, walking past Jack. Goren, however, paused before leaving the apartment.

"Thankyou, Mr Moore. You've been very helpful."

Again, Moore seemed taken aback by the quiet civility displayed by the tall detective. A moment later, though, he quickly resumed his cocky arrogance.

"Just doing my bit as a concerned, law abiding citizen. Why don't you come back and visit again soon, Inspector Frost?"

Jack turned an icy stare on the younger man.

"Careful, Tommy. I might just take you up on that."

Moore smirked openly.

"Just remember to call ahead, and I'll have a cup of tea waiting for you, eh?"

Jack shook his head, following Goren and Eames back to the car.

"Smart mouthed little twit. I wager I'll be picking him up sooner or later for something."

"We need to try and find out who this friend was," Eames murmured as they climbed back into Jack's car. "The archery club that Moore mentioned, would that have been part of the university?"

"Well, the university might have had an archery club," Jack said, "but the only archery range in Denton is in the south side. That's where our Mr Mathers would have gone with this friend."

"It's possible that the friend might have been an employee at the range," Goren mused. "Moore said it was an older man."

"If Mathers was officially a member or, better still, if he was there as a guest of a member, they should have those records," Goren said. Jack nodded.

"All right. Let's get out there and see."

* * *


	6. Nighttime Visitations

Author's note: _It's funny how things work out. Prior to writing out the latter part of this chapter, I had very specific ideas about what was going to happen, and how certain characters were going to behave. Yet, when I actually got to writing, it came out considerably differently to the way I originally planned. I swear, these characters have minds of their own…_

_Also, taking some poetic license – any die-hard Inspector Frost fan will know that he was left more or less homeless after his house burned down. In my little universe, that never happened._

_

* * *

_

The Archery club staff was less forthcoming in assisting them. The woman sitting at the front desk was the no-nonsense sort, looking down her nose at the three of them and clearly unimpressed when they identified themselves as police officers.

"I'm sorry," she said coolly, sounding anything but. "The manager, Mr Baker, has meetings all through today, and I don't expect him to be available until tomorrow at the earliest. And no, I can't allow you to look at our records. Those are strictly confidential."

"I don't think you understand, Ms Elliot," Jack started to say, glancing at her name badge for reference.

"I understand perfectly," she replied frostily. "If you wish to examine our records, you will have to obtain a warrant."

"Well, maybe we could just take a look around, then?" Goren inquired, starting to edge towards the door that led to the archery range.

"Certainly not. It's strictly members and guests only…"

She stood up quickly – Goren was already at the door, and halfway through.

"Just a quick look," Goren half-pleaded. Then he was gone, disappearing through the doorway with an agility that belied his injury. The receptionist hurried after him, looking predictably put-out.

"What does he think he's…" Jack trailed off, looking around in astonishment as Eames darted around the desk and began to type furiously on the computer keyboard. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Looking for any record of Erik Mathers," Eames answered. "Bobby provides the distraction while I get the information. It's a well-practised tactic."

"So I see," Jack murmured, not sure whether to laugh or cringe.

"Eight years ago…" Eames muttered under her breath. "M… a… t… h… Here we go… Erik Mathers, bronze membership… Introduced to the club by…" She looked up at Jack, a small, grim smile on her lips. "Introduced by one Amon Bohen."

"Sounds like we'll be going back to have another chat with the good Professor," Jack murmured. He watched as Eames printed off a copy of the screen and shoved it into her pocket, then returned the screen to what it had been when the receptionist left to chase after Goren. She had just stepped back around to join Jack when the door opened once more and Goren re-emerged with the furious receptionist right behind him, giving him the telling off of a lifetime.

"…totally unacceptable behaviour! I don't care whether you are a police officer; I should report you to your superior. And I _will_ be informing the manager of this breach."

"We're so sorry about that," Eames apologised, taking Goren firmly by the arm and pushing him towards the exit. "He just gets a little carried away sometimes. We won't bother you further."

Then she propelled her partner out the door. Jack watched them go in incredulous amusement, then tipped his hat to the receptionist.

"Ma'am."

Then he quickly followed his colleagues out of the building.

* * *

"Did you get it?" Goren asked as they got back to Jack's car. Eames pulled the print-out out of her jacket and handed it to him.

"According to that, Mathers was introduced to the club by Amon Bohen."

A tight smile formed across Goren's face.

"I knew he was lying."

"Ah, excuse me," Jack interrupted, coughing into his hand. "Do you pull stunts like that often?"

Goren looked to Eames in confusion, and she smiled faintly.

"I think he means the way you got that woman away from her desk. The answer to that question, Jack, is yes. It happens all the time. If you're not comfortable…"

"No, it's not that," Jack reassured them quickly. "I've just never seen anything quite like the two of you before."

"We'll take that as a compliment," Goren chuckled as they got back into Jack's car. Jack smiled ruefully.

"Please do. I'm not trying to be derogatory. It's just that most officers I work with tend to be sticklers for following the letter of the law, like getting search warrants. This is actually a rather refreshing change." He paused, glancing at his watch, then sighing faintly. "I think we'd better head back to CID. We'll catch up with Professor Bohen tomorrow, eh?"

Goren looked at his own watch, and chuckled.

"Time flies. It's been an interesting day."

Eames grunted. "And not a single call from Deakins. Either he's finally mellowing, or Mullett's kept him so busy that he just hasn't had time to call us."

She had barely finished speaking when her cell phone rang shrilly.

"Nice one, Alex," Goren said dryly. "You jinxed us."

"Shut up," she growled as she pulled the phone out and checked the display screen. Sure enough, the phone identified number as belonging to Deakins.

"Well," she muttered, "I suppose we can't complain." Throwing Goren a dirty look as his shoulders shook with silent laughter, she answered the call.

"Eames… Yes, sir, I know. You haven't called all day. We appreciate it…"

Goren laughed out loud, prompting Eames to thump the back of the seat to try and get him to shut up.

"Sorry, sir…? No, it's nothing. He just has indigestion. Too much fried food at lunch. …Yes, we're on our way back there now. …All right, we'll see you in twenty."

She ended the call, smirking as Goren threw a mock frown at her over his shoulder.

"Captain says you'd better watch your diet. You can't exercise properly, and you'll get fat on all those nasty fried foods."

"That's rich. I wasn't the one who ordered a steak sandwich and chips for lunch."

"Oh, that's right, that was me, wasn't it? You just had that nice, healthy BLT…"

Goren shook his head and turned back to face front.

"So what else did he have to say?"

"He said the reports are in from the pathologist's office."

"Good," Jack muttered. "We'll see whether we can get anything useful out of that."

* * *

Deakins was waiting for them in the task room when they arrived back, looking more than a little withered from his day spent with Mullett.

"Next time you lot go somewhere," he said ruefully as they tramped back in, "I'm damn well coming with you. If I have to spend another day with him…"

George grinned where he sat going through reports.

"I did ask if you knew what you were getting into, Guv, if you don't mind me saying so."

Deakins shook his head in annoyance.

"I just can't fathom how someone could be a commanding officer, and be so completely…"

"Clueless?" Eames suggested lightly. He nodded.

"Yes, exactly. All right, what have you got?"

"We went out to the university, and got unofficial copies of Mathers' file from when he was there," Goren answered, handing his copy of the file to Deakins. The captain raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Unofficial?"

"Don't ask. We also spoke to a lecturer that taught one of the classes Mathers took."

"All right. What else?"

"We paid a visit to Mr Mathers' roommate," Jack continued on. "Had an interesting chat with him. George, you remember Tommy Moore?"

George rolled his eyes.

"How could I forget? Silly prat actually thought he could scare us off with a flare gun. He's out of the nick, is he?"

"Six months ago. I don't think he's our killer, though. He's got form for violence, but this is a little out of his league. What we did get from him, though, was a tip that Mathers belonged to the Denton Archery Club while he was here."

"Archery," Deakins echoed grimly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"According to the information we got from the archery club," Eames told him, "Mathers was introduced to the club by the professor that we spoke to at the university, Amon Bohen…"

"Which means he lied through his teeth when he told us that he didn't know Mathers beyond teaching him at the university," Goren concluded, a hint of triumph in his voice.

"George," Jack said, "go and run a check on Amon Bohen. Last name is spelt B O H E N. I want to know whether he has any sort of record, even a parking ticket."

"On it, Guv," George answered, pushing himself out of his chair and hurrying from the room. Once he'd gone, Deakins handed them each a copy of the pathologist's report from the body found earlier that day.

"There's not a lot that's different to the other victims," Deakins said as they perused the report. "Except for one thing. A scraping taken from under the fingernails contained DNA. They're running it now. When we get the results, I've also organised for our guys back home to run it and see if they can come up with something. It's going to take at least twenty-four hours, though, before we get anymore results." He paused, glancing up at the clock. It read a quarter past five. "Jack, if you don't mind, I'd like to get these two back to the hotel before it gets too late."

Jack nodded his compliance, ignoring the aggravated looks shared by Goren and Eames.

"Don't tell us," Goren growled as Deakins collected their coats for them. "Our doctors gave you strict instructions on bedtimes for us, too?"

"Don't be smart, Goren," Deakins retorted, unfazed by the detective's open irritation. "There's nothing more we can do today, anyway. It'd be more beneficial to get back to the hotel, have dinner, and then you can read files to your heart's content in your room. That way, you'll at least be ready for an early start tomorrow. Both of you," he added, looking pointedly at Eames.

"Yes, Dad," she replied sardonically, drawing an appreciative smirk from her partner.

"Jack, would you mind?" Deakins asked wearily. The Inspector nodded, struggling not to laugh as he pulled his coat back on and retrieved his car keys.

"Of course."

* * *

"I'd like your permission to tell a couple of my subordinates about what happened to you," Jack said as they arrived back at the hotel. "Specifically, George and Detective Sergeant Hazel Wallace. You haven't met Hazel yet, but she's been working closely with me on this investigation."

Goren and Eames exchanged looks, and then Goren nodded. They both trusted Jack now, and if he felt it was necessary or beneficial for two of his officers to know, then that was okay by them.

"That's fine," Goren said. "I don't know that we could tell it again, though…"

"That's not necessary," Jack assured him. I'll have them read the files. Thankyou, though. I think it will help if they're made aware."

Jack paused, watching as they alighted from the car. "Same time tomorrow, then?"

Deakins nodded his approval.

"We'll be waiting."

* * *

"I know he means well," Eames said wearily, "but I almost wish Deakins hadn't come with us. We aren't kids, for god's sake."

"To him, we are," Goren's voice floated out to her from the confines of the bathroom. "He feels responsible for us… especially after what happened back home."

Eames sighed aloud as she flipped slowly through the pathologist's report.

"You know what would be really great?"

"What?"

"If we could make a quick match on the epithelial tissue that was underneath that kid's fingernails. We could have a suspect in custody by the end of tomorrow. I would so love to be home by the weekend."

"What do you think about Amon Bohen?" Goren wondered. Eames sighed again. Bobby and his tangents…

"Do you mean as a viable suspect? He seems to be the most likely at the moment. He lied about the extent of his involvement with Mathers. We could talk to Jack tomorrow morning and see about bringing him in for questioning."

"Have you considered the possibility that there could be more than one killer?"

Eames felt a chill down her spine at the thought. Had it come from anyone else, she might have dismissed it as pure speculation, but Bobby Goren did not make off-the-cuff suppositions just for the hell of it. If he was raising the subject, that meant he felt there was a real chance that there was a second killer on the loose.

"Double teaming, do you mean?" she asked. Silence met her question. After a moment's hesitation, Eames got up from the sofa and walked over to the bathroom door.

"Bobby?"

Still no answer. Eames felt another chill creep through her system. She hadn't heard a thump, so she was fairly sure that he hadn't fallen. Maybe he'd just dozed off in the bath…

"Bobby, answer me, damn it!"

She was about to risk opening the door when it swung open seemingly of its own volition. Eames stumbled back a couple of steps in momentary fright, but recovered quickly to find Goren standing there in the doorway, still dripping wet and with only a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. He looked down at her, bemusedly.

"What's wrong?"

She glowered at him, and slapped him on the arm, drawing an indignant yelp from him.

"Don't you dare do that to me again, Bobby Goren!"

"What?" he asked, rubbing his arm gingerly and sounding genuinely confused. "What did I do?"

"You didn't answer me. I thought you'd fallen in there!"

"Oh… I'm sorry, Alex. I heard you, but I was getting out of the bath. I kind of needed my full concentration on that."

He reached out, intending to pull her in for a hug, but she pushed his arm away.

"Oh no, you don't. You're all wet. I've already had my bath tonight, I don't need to be getting wet again. Go dry off and get changed, and then I might think about letting you hug me."

Goren grinned, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

"In answer to your question, Alex, yes. I mean double teaming. I'd hate to think we've got a copycat of a copycat."

"If the killer has direct ties to Erik Mathers, he's not really a copycat, is he?" Eames mused as she resumed her position on the sofa.

"You're thinking that perhaps Mathers had a contingency plan?" Goren asked.

"Maybe not a contingency plan," Eames said. "Maybe it was more like a pact, so that if anything happened to him, the friend would take over. But if that's the case, we do have to consider that there could be more than one, don't we? Who knows how many other people might have been indoctrinated by Mathers' partner in the eight years since he was here."

"And we have to take into account that it might not have been Mathers that did the indoctrinating to begin with," Goren pointed out. The bathroom door opened again and he emerged wearing pyjama bottoms, still rubbing at his shoulders and head with the towel. "We have to consider that maybe Mathers was just one of many. The person… or persons responsible for the current killings might just be the next in a long line of brain-washed kids."

"Brainwashed by their enigmatic, brilliant professor," Eames concluded grimly. "We have to bring him in for questioning tomorrow."

Goren set aside the towel, pulled on his pyjama top and sank onto the sofa beside her.

"Hopefully we'll also be able to get a warrant for a DNA swab. If we're really lucky, his DNA will match what was found under the kid's nails." He sighed faintly. "A quick arrest would be nice."

Eames leaned in against him, curling her legs up beneath her as he slipped an arm companionably around her.

"Let's just hope no one else goes missing in the meantime."

* * *

Goren awoke to darkness. He lay in the silence, his sleep-fogged mind slowly rejoining the rest of his body in reluctant wakefulness. A sense of dejavu hit, and he looked around, half-expecting to see Eames twisting and turning in her bed, caught up in the throes of a nightmare. Except, her bed was empty, the covers undisturbed.

Slight movement next to him drew his attention, and he looked in the other direction to find his partner curled up in the bed beside him. She was sound asleep, her breathing deep and even.

He smiled muzzily into the darkness. That was right. After the previous night, neither had even spared the single bed so much as a glance. Well, it was fine by him. All they had to be careful of was making sure Deakins didn't get wind of the fact that they were sharing a bed. He'd gone to great lengths to protect them from being separated by the holier-than-thou attitudes of the Powers That Be back home, but these sleeping arrangements would have been stretching even _his_ tolerance levels further than was reasonable.

A glance at the digital clock told him it was a little after midnight. He still had at least five or six hours before he had to think about getting up. Before he could contemplate going back to sleep, though, a familiar sensation stirred below his waist. Swallowing the urge to groan, Goren carefully pushed back the blankets and eased himself out of the bed. Grabbing the walking stick and ignoring the heavy calliper, he made his way across the room and into the ensuite, taking care to close the door so as to avoid waking Eames.

He didn't bother to turn on the light. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness, and the bright lights of the bathroom would have only served to effectively blind him.

Goren took a moment to wash his hands and headed back into the bedroom.

The sound of movement in the next room of their suite brought him up short. His breath caught momentarily in his throat before instincts kicked in and he picked his gun up off the nightstand, then leaned over and touched Eames lightly on the shoulder.

She awoke immediately, and he quickly touched his finger to his lips, then pointed wordlessly to the door. A moment later, she heard it, too. It was the distinct sound of someone moving about in the other room of their suite.

Goren waited as Eames slipped out of bed and collected her own gun before limping over to the door. Neither one of them spoke a word, instead falling back on more than five years' worth of experience in reading each other's reactions. Counting to three silently by nodding his head, Goren pulled the door open, allowing Eames to step past him into the next room, gun at the ready. Goren was right behind her, flicking on the light as he went.

A black clad figure came out of nowhere, hurling himself into both detectives. Eames staggered to the side, thrown momentarily off balance. Goren, however, caught the full force of the collision, and went down with a jarring crash, a cry of pain tearing loose from his throat.

Their attacker scrambled up and bolted for the door, apparently in no mood to continue the fight. Eames lifted her gun and, without hesitation, fired a parting shot. The bullet struck the doorframe, just barely missing their fleeing assailant. With a concerned look at her partner, Eames ran over to the door and looked out just in time to see a flash of black disappearing around the corner at the end of the hallway. Hurrying over to the phone, Eames snatched it off the hook and dialled hotel security.

"This is Detective Eames in Room 219, reporting someone breaking into our room. He's about five foot one, dressed entirely in black. …Yes, please call the police. Sorry…?" She paused, looking back at Goren, who had pushed himself up against the wall. "No, I don't think we need an ambulance, but could you please send someone up with ice? A _lot_ of ice. Thankyou."

She hung up just as Deakins ran in, clad only in pyjama bottoms, gun in hand.

"What the hell happened…?"

"Someone broke into our room," Eames told him grimly as she strode over to Goren's side. "Whoever it was knocked Bobby over."

"Are you all right?" Deakins asked as he hurried over.

Goren nodded, though the look on his face suggested otherwise.

"Nothing's broken. Just… jarred, I think."

Deakins eyed Goren's right leg worriedly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Goren muttered. "Might need some help getting up off the floor, though…"

Exchanging rueful looks, Deakins and Eames somehow managed between them to help Goren get back to his feet and guide him back into the bedroom. They'd just helped him onto the bed when a voice called out from the other room.

"Excuse me…?"

"That'll be security," Eames murmured, leaving Goren and Deakins to go and speak to the newcomers.

"Are you really sure you're all right?" Deakins asked again, watching Goren with genuine concern. Goren nodded slowly, too busy concentrating on keeping his breathing steady to be irritated at the repeated question.

"I think so. Kind of glad I have a physio session tomorrow, though."

Amusement flickered across Deakins' face that was tempered by ill-concealed worry. He believed there was no serious damage done – even at his most frustrated, Goren wouldn't have been foolish enough to pretend no harm had been done if that were not the case. But the fact that Goren admitted to being relieved at the prospect of an impending physio session hinted strongly at just how much pain he was in right then.

Eames came back in, looking tired and frustrated. She carried with her a large bag of ice.

"Security spotted the guy running through the lobby, but they weren't quick enough to stop him. The Chief of Security called the police, though. A car is on its way."

Deakins nodded.

"Good. What do you want done with that ice, Alex?"

"Could you grab a handtowel from the kitchenette, sir?" she asked as she helped Goren to roll up the leg of his pyjama pants. "I'll wrap some of the ice in it for Bobby's leg. Otherwise it's going to swell up like a balloon."

"Okay."

He disappeared out of the room to do as she'd asked. As soon as he was out of sight, Alex dove across the room, and quickly yanked the blankets back on the single bed, thoroughly messing them up.

"What are you doing…?" Goren asked, confused by her seemingly bizarre actions. She came back to his side, frowning just slightly.

"Do _you_ want to try explaining to Deakins why the single bed hasn't been slept in?"

"Oh…"

"Exactly. Now shut up."

Deakins came back in with a couple of handtowels in hand. Eames carefully tipped ice into each one and tied them off, and then he and Eames held them carefully against Goren's leg.

"By the way…" Deakins said casually after a moment. She glanced at him questioningly.

"What?"

"I _will_ be wanting an explanation later on as to why only one of these beds has been slept in."

Goren and Eames exchanged rueful looks.

"Damn," Eames muttered. Not daring to look at Deakins, she missed the amused smirk that passed fleetingly across his lips. Goren, however, didn't.

"You knew?" he asked incredulously.

"No, but it doesn't surprise me," Deakins answered. "Especially when you came down yesterday morning and said you'd both slept well."

When they looked at him questioningly, he smiled sympathetically. "I've seen your psych evaluations. I know about the nightmares. If it gets you both through the night, then who am I to judge?" He paused, then favoured them both with a stern look. "Just make sure it doesn't go any further than sleeping in the same bed. Understand?"

They didn't have a chance to answer. A moment later, Jack strode in, with Mullett right behind him.

"What the blazes happened here?" Jack burst out, wincing a little at the sight of Goren's scarred leg.

"Someone broke into our room," Eames explained. "Bobby got knocked down."

"Good lord, are you all right?" Mullett asked, somehow managing to assume an air of genuine alarm and concern while maintaining a safe distance. Jack, however, strode straight up to the bedside.

"Should we be calling for an ambulance?"

"It's nothing that plenty of ice and an emergency session of physio won't cure," Eames reassured him.

"Any idea what this prowler might have been after?"

For a long moment, Goren and Eames just looked at each other. Then, abruptly, they both spoke simultaneously as realisation struck.

"The case notes!"

Eames almost jumped off the bed, and bolted past Mullett. A minute later, she came back looking grim.

"Everything's been rifled, there are papers all over the place. I couldn't tell you if anything's missing."

"It had to be the killer," Deakins murmured. "He wanted to see what we've got."

"The killer," Goren agreed. "Or his accomplice."

"Accomplice?" Mullett echoed, sounding horrified. "Are you saying there are two killers out there?"

Even Deakins was looking at Goren oddly. Eames caught the look, and jumped to her partner's defence.

"It's something we were tossing around last night. We've all be assuming that Erik Mathers came over here, and brainwashed someone into his way of thinking. What if it was the other way around? What if Mathers was the one who got brainwashed?"

Jack quickly caught on to her meaning.

"By someone like Professor Bohen, you mean?"

"We already know he lied about the extent of his relationship with Mathers," Goren pointed out. "It's not much of a stretch to believe that he could have been the instigator all along."

"Okay, people, save the theories for later," Deakins interrupted. "Let's just focus on the current issue. Whether it was the killer, or an accomplice, it doesn't really matter. The point is, they knew where to find you two."

"He's right," Jack agreed. "The next visit might not be quite so amiable."

Again, Goren and Eames exchanged glances. The same thought had occurred to them both, but neither had cared to voice that worry.

"So what do you want to do?" Goren asked, starting to feel irritable. "Change hotels?"

"I think we may have to," Deakins said reluctantly. "I don't want to be taking pointless risks. It isn't worth it."

"Why don't you just wrap us up in cotton wool, and tuck us away somewhere until it's time to go home?" Eames grumbled.

"I might have a solution," Jack suggested, sensing the tensions starting to rise again. "I have two spare bedrooms at my house. You're welcome to use them… if you like."

Silence met the statement. Then, Deakins looked at Goren and Eames.

"It's up to you. What do you want to do?"

"It'd be logical," Goren conceded. Eames nodded her agreement.

"Fine by me."

"Thankyou, Jack," Deakins said sincerely. "We appreciate it."

"What will you do, then?" Eames asked.

"I'll stay here," Deakins said decisively.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Mullett asked. Deakins favoured Mullett with one of his best 'don't-be-so-damned-stupid' looks.

"I don't think it's my safety we need to be concerned about here. Do you?"

Mullett coughed, looking embarrassed. Goren and Eames exchanged small smiles. Score one to Deakins.

"Yes, well, I suppose that's true…"

Jack took a step towards the door.

"All right, then. We'll get going, leave you folks in peace. I'll come by a little bit later in the morning, shall I? Give you a chance to recover from the excitement. We can transfer your things to my place before heading into CID."

"We need to bring Bohen in for questioning in the morning," Goren said as Jack and Mullett retreated. Jack nodded.

"It's all taken care of. I've got George set to pick him up first thing in the morning. Don't worry, Bobby. We won't start on him without you."

Goren had to grin, despite the pain. Then Jack and Mullett were gone, leaving them alone.

"I know I've already asked this two or three times," Deakins said once they'd gone. "But you are all right, aren't you, Bobby?"

Goren hesitated in answering, looking down at his leg with rueful acceptance.

"It's going to hurt like hell later. It hurts like hell now."

"You want painkillers?" Eames asked. He nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah, I think I'd better. Otherwise I'm not going to sleep again tonight."

"Where are they?" Deakins asked. Eames pointed to the drawer in the nightstand on her side of the bed.

"In that drawer," she told him. "The little bottle with the yellow label. That has the painkillers for night time."

Deakins quickly found the small pill bottle.

"I find it curious that you've each taken charge the other's medication," he commented as he handed the bottle to Eames so she could extract the correct dosage.

"It was our doctors' idea," Eames murmured, watching carefully to make sure Goren swallowed both pills. "And it's just for the stronger painkillers that they prescribed for us. It's not that they were worried we'd take too many, and OD. It was more to make sure that we _do_ actually take them when we need them. You may have noticed that Bobby, in particular, can be a little recalcitrant when it comes to taking something when the pain gets really bad. I think our doctors figured that if we supervised each other, we'd get the stronger painkillers when we really need them."

Deakins nodded wordlessly. He'd have to have another word with the pair's doctors when they got home, thanking them for their cunning tactics. It was true, Goren tended to be a little to stoic for his own good sometimes, and to hand responsibility for the administering of stronger painkillers over to Eames was a stroke of genius. She was the one person who would not take any of his tough guy bullshit.

"Okay," Eames murmured as Goren settled down against the pillows. She favoured Deakins with a small smile. "We're okay now, sir."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. You can go back to bed. Um… There might be a bit of trouble later this morning… When I fired my gun, I hit the doorframe…"

"I'll take care of that," Deakins reassured her as he handed her the handtowel filled with melting ice, and headed for the door. "Just try and get some rest, both of you."

Then they were alone.

"There's one drawback, you know."

Eames regarded Goren in confusion. "What do you mean? Drawback to what?"

"Staying with Jack. We won't get away with sharing a bed there."

She smiled, and laughed softly.

"Did you see Deakins' face? I nearly had a heart attack. I keep forgetting how damned perceptive he is."

"He didn't get to be captain of Major Case purely by kissing ass," Goren commented dryly.

"Well, I thought we were screwed. I can't believe he doesn't care!"

"I don't think it's that he doesn't care. He does… He just knows it wouldn't be in anyone's interest to try and stop it."

"You think we should tell him about what happened in Mathers' cabin that night?"

"He wouldn't expect us to… So, yeah. I think we should. Later, though." He trailed off, yawning widely. "Right now, I need sleep. And so do you."

Eames nodded and carefully put the rest of the ice away, in the kitchenette's sink where it could melt harmlessly away. She then climbed carefully into bed beside him, after placing her gun carefully on the side table, easily within reach.

"Just in case."

There was no answer, and when she looked she was not surprised to find that Goren was already asleep. The painkillers she'd given him out of that particular tiny bottle were certainly effective. Smiling faintly to herself, she settled down beside him, and soon slid off to sleep.

* * *


	7. Closing In

Jack arrived back at the hotel shortly after eight-thirty to find Goren and Eames just finishing getting their things together for the move.

"When you said you'd come later, I thought you meant at least nine o'clock," Goren said with a wry smile as Jack walked in. The Inspector returned Goren's smile amusedly.

"You're up, aren't you?" he shot back. "Anyway, I have some interesting news for you. A couple of uniforms nabbed the lad that broke in here last night."

The statement quite literally brought all activity in the room to a standstill as Goren, Eames and Deakins each ceased what they were doing to stare at Jack in astonishment. Eames recovered first from the surprise.

"Lad? You mean it was just a kid?"

"A student from the university, as a matter of fact," Jack said. "Silly twit tried to break into a house on his way home. The owners weren't home, but their Doberman was. Bailed him up against a wall, and wouldn't let him move. He was still there when the owners got home two hours later. He was in rather a sorry state when the uniforms arrived, actually. Needed a change of underwear, if you get my meaning."

Neither Goren nor Eames could contain their grins. Even Deakins chuckled softly.

"Kid's lucky," Eames retorted, forcing the smirk from her face. "If I hadn't still been half asleep, he wouldn't been carried out of here with a bullet in him."

Jack raised an eyebrow amusedly. "So that's what the fuss downstairs was all about. I couldn't help overhearing the concierge ranting to the owner… Something about trigger-happy American coppers."

"She shot the door," Goren said simply, by way of explanation.

"I was aiming at him," Eames growled, throwing her partner a dirty look. "I was off-balance. Anyway, at least I got a shot off. You were too busy sitting on your ass on the floor and feeling sorry for yourself to be bothered."

"How is the leg, Bobby?" Jack asked quickly before Goren had a chance to reply to Eames' deliberate barb.

"Okay, for now," he answered, glaring at Eames. "Hopefully I can last out until the physio session this evening."

Leaning over carefully, with a grip on the walking stick that was almost white-knuckled, he picked up one of his two bags and headed for the door.

"Let's go. I want to talk to that kid."

* * *

Adrian Bailey was a short, stocky boy of eighteen years, with an attitude to match his sour expression and sullen body language.

"He doesn't look happy," Eames commented dryly as they observed Bailey and his lawyer through the two-way mirror. George grunted.

"After being pinned to a wall for two hours by a near-rabid dog? I don't doubt it. He wasn't too happy about being dumped in a holding cell for the rest of the night, either."

"Perhaps next time he'll think twice about the cleverness of breaking into hotel rooms and houses," Jack muttered. He looked around at his American colleagues. "How would you like to do this?"

Goren and Eames looked at each other thoughtfully before Goren spoke.

"The three of us will go in together. You start it off, Jack. We'll play it from there."

Jack hesitated, looking at Goren piercingly. Intuition told him Goren already had an idea of how he was going to 'play' the situation, but wasn't letting on. A glance at the small, knowing smile on Eames' face confirmed his suspicions. Finally, accepting he wasn't going to be able to get anymore out of either of them, he decided to simply enjoy the ensuing entertainment and conceded with a nod.

"All right, then. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

* * *

"Relax, Adrian," lawyer Lowell Jermyn advised his client, not for the first time as Bailey started up out of his chair in growing agitation. "You'll be out of here soon enough. The most they've got on you is breaking and entering, and since it's your first offence, you'll most likely get off with just a warning. Just shut your mouth and let me do the talking, all right?"

The door swung open and Jack walked in, followed by Goren and Eames who took up temporary residence by the wall.

"It's about time, Inspector," Jermyn said coolly. "It really was unacceptable to leave my client stewing for so long. And who are they?"

Jack didn't so much as spare a glance back at Goren and Eames.

"Interested observers. I wouldn't concern myself if I were you, Mr Jermyn."

Jermyn frowned. "Fine. Now, if you'd like to provide my client with the mandatory warning, we'll just call it a day, shall we?"

Jack laughed openly at that, and then he did look around at the two detectives.

"Did you hear that? He assaults two police officers, and he thinks he's getting out of here with just a warning."

The words had been very carefully chosen, and the effect was immediate. Already highly agitated, Bailey was out of his chair, howling protests.

"I didn't assault anyone! Especially not two coppers!"

"Oh, really?" Jack growled. "Then perhaps you can enlighten us as to what it was, exactly, that you did do in that hotel room last night."

"Be quiet, Adrian," Jermyn ordered his client. "Inspector Frost, my client admits to breaking and entering into two premises, but you can't pin on him an assault that never happened!"

"So what did happen, then, hmm? According to your client."

"He has already explained. He did break into that hotel room. The occupants startled him, and he fled. If anything, you should be charging _them_. One of them shot a gun at my client."

"Yes, I know," Jack replied calmly.

"So I didn't assault anyone," Bailey said angrily. "You ought to be arresting whichever one it was that shot at me. Could've killed me, they could've!"

Jack focused a hard stare on the boy, which had him cringing back in his seat.

"You have no idea how lucky you are, Adrian. Now, before you dig yourself an even deeper hole, I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Detective Robert Goren and Detective Alex Eames, of the New York City Police Department. Detective Goren is the individual you say you didn't knock over, and Detective Eames is the one you say we should be arresting for trying to shoot you. Say hello to Detective Goren, Adrian."

On the other side of the mirror, Deakins, George and Hazel all roared with laughter as five foot one inch Adrian Bailey found himself staring up at the six foot four inch detective that suddenly towered over the top of him. A second later, even Jack looked on incredulously as Goren suddenly bent over almost double, leaning nearly all his weight on the walking stick while pushing his face into Bailey's. He bent over, placing himself squarely between Bailey and his lawyer, effectively blocking their view of each other.

"This is your first time in trouble, isn't it, Adrian?"

"Inspector!" Jermyn burst out. "This man has no authority to question my client! Nothing Adrian tells him will admissible…"

Goren turned his head around to look at Jermyn briefly.

"Then you won't mind me talking to him, will you?" He promptly returned his attention to Bailey, before Jermyn had a chance to reply. "You know you're pretty lucky, Adrian? You see, my partner, Detective Eames… She's usually a pretty good shot. She only missed you because you knocked her off-balance." Goren straightened up, turned around and sat down on the table between Bailey and Jermyn. "Otherwise, she _wouldn't_ have missed."

Bailey stared up at Goren, his eyes wide and his face pale.

"Wh… What's your point?"

Goren leaned in slowly towards Bailey, favouring the young man with his best 'why-don't-you-just-confess-and-save-us-all-the-trouble' look. In response, Bailey pushed his chair backwards a little across the floor in an unconscious effort to get away from Goren.

"What were you doing there, Adrian? Because something tells me you wouldn't have been game enough to break in if you'd known there were a couple of cops in there."

At that point, Eames began to move forward, across the floor. Bailey glanced at her nervously, then looked back at Goren.

"I was just looking for money… My… My habit… I needed money for dope…"

"Now, see, that's funny," Eames said crisply. "Because the only things that had been disturbed were our case notes."

"You don't have a habit," Goren said dismissively. "You're clean, tidy… Your eyes are clear and focused. You've never taken drugs before. So what were you looking for? Or didn't he tell you?"

Bailey flinched just slightly.

"What d'you mean?"

"You tell us, Adrian. Who sent you to break into our room?"

Bailey had turned the colour of ash by then. Eames came to stand on the other side of the table, immediately opposite Bailey.

"We know you didn't go there on your own volition, Adrian. Someone sent you to search for something. All you need to do to get yourself out of a whole lot of serious trouble is tell us…"

"Who, what and why," Goren finished off smoothly. "And in case you don't really understand the gravity of the situation you're in…"

"Let us enlighten you," Eames went on. "There's a killer on the loose in Denton. You might have read about the victims in the newspapers…"

"Or heard about them on the television," Goren said. "Now, the case notes you rifled last night were exclusively about that particular case. So, if you weren't sent to break into our room by someone else, then that might lead us to think…"

"That you have something to hide, and you were specifically out to find out how much we know," Eames concluded. She favoured Bailey with an almost seductive smile. "So which is it, Adrian? Were you sent to look for something by another person…?"

Goren leaned in close once more, his gaze penetrating Bailey right to his core.

"Or are you the one with a secret to protect?"

Bailey looked around at his lawyer for help, sweat streaking his face. It was of little help to him. The lawyer was staring from Goren to Eames, agape.

"All right," Bailey whimpered. "Okay… It was my professor. He wanted me to find out whether you had anything on him."

"Which professor?" Jack asked, finally coming forward. Bailey stared miserably at the table top.

"It was Professor Bohen."

"Did he offer to pay you?" Eames asked.

"Nah. He said I could use the experience for my next report."

"The experience of breaking into a property and assaulting people?" Jack asked in disgust. Bailey rubbed the sweat out of his eyes.

"I didn't assault no one! It… It was an accident."

"So was missing you with my gun," Eames retorted. Bailey swallowed hard.

"I didn't mean to hurt no one. 'Specially not coppers." He looked up at Goren tremulously. "I'm sorry, all right?"

Goren shifted a little, then pushed away from the table. "Well, no harm, no foul. Tell us, did Professor Bohen tell you anything specific to look for?"

"No. Just to look for anything that had his name on it. I didn't really get a chance to look at anything much, though."

"All right," Jermyn growled suddenly, as though he'd abruptly come back from the dead. "I think my client has been more than helpful. About this ridiculous assault accusation…"

"We could probably be persuaded not to press charges," Eames said, "if your client makes a statement fully disclosing everything that Amon Bohen told him."

"That's blackmail!" Bailey protested sullenly. Jack smiled benevolently.

"Consider it more as being a step in the right direction, my lad." He moved over to the door, holding it open for Goren and Eames to exit the room. "I'll send an officer in so you can make that statement, all right?"

* * *

"I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that before," Jack said after he'd sent George and Hazel in to take Bailey's statement.

"They're something, aren't they?" Deakins said with a grin.

"We need to bring Bohen in for questioning," Goren said firmly, ignoring the compliment. "Now."

"We'll have a warrant within the hour," Jack assured him. "There's not a lot we can do in the meantime, so perhaps we can complete the move for you?"

Goren and Eames glanced at each other, and then nodded in unison.

"That'd be good," Eames murmured appreciatively. "Thanks."

* * *

"I have to say," Jack mused as he showed them into his home a short while later, "that I don't think I've ever seen a lawyer lost for words like that before. Do you manage to achieve that effect often?"

"Are you kidding?" Eames asked with a laugh. "The lawyers back home have all learnt not to bother even trying to argue with Bobby. It just isn't worth the headache."

"And it's been even more pronounced over the last few months," Deakins added. "You saw them go at Bailey, Jack, and he was minor league."

Jack chuckled. "I imagine it would be quite a sight to watch them taking on someone more… what's the phrase? _Major_ league."

"You might just have that chance," Deakins said. "That is, if they have the opportunity to question Bohen."

"Oh, I think that can be arranged," Jack said, smiling at the thought.

"Don't you just love how they talk about us like we're not even here?" Eames commented to Goren, who nodded in amused agreement.

"Oh, right, sorry," Jack said quickly. "Now, Bobby, you're welcome to the bedroom just through there. Alex, there's a room just at the top of the stairs on the left."

Minutes later, they stood back in the foyer after depositing bags.

"I think we have some time before we need to be back at CID. How about coffee?"

Three faces positively lit up at the offer. With a chuckle, Jack ushered them through to the living room.

* * *

"I have to admit," Jack said as they settled down with hot mugs of freshly brewed coffee, "we were getting nowhere fast until you folks arrived. Now, we actually have a suspect. It's certainly an improvement."

"Hopefully we'll have more luck here in that department than we had back home," Goren said ruefully. "Alex and I never even suspected Erik Mathers. Not as a viable suspect, anyway."

Jack looked across at Deakins.

"You said you had outside help in identifying Erik Mathers."

Deakins nodded.

"Yes. The head of our Crime Scene Unit contacted his counterpart in Miami because our victims matched up to victims that turned up that way eighteen months previous. A team from Miami came up and joined us, putting the information they had together with what we had. They had an ID, which actually turned out to be false… Mathers used the name Lucas Graham while he was operating in Miami… but it led us to a property owned under that name. Some locals made the connection for us. Up until that point, all we knew about Mathers was that he was the brother of the man who was a suspect until he was murdered as well. All in all, it was a whole series of lucky connections that led us to Mathers' cabin at the top of Gore Mountain."

"Lucky for us, that is," Eames retorted. Goren sat forward just a little, his interest piqued.

"Did you say Lucas_ Graham_?"

"What are you thinking?" Deakins asked, recognising the sudden gleam in Goren's eyes. Jack quickly caught on to what he was thinking, though.

"The Dean of Denton University is one David Graham."

Goren nodded. "It could just be a coincidence, but it could also be that Mathers chose that name as an alias for a reason."

"It might help to know how far back ownership of that house in the Adirondacks goes," Deakins mused. "Mathers may have gotten the idea of using that name when he was over here."

"But then that would also suggest that he'd had contact with the Dean," Eames pointed out. "Do we know whether Graham was the Dean eight years ago? Or if he was even at the university at all?"

"I don't think he was Dean then," Jack said, "but he was definitely lecturing there. You know, it could have been a suggestion planted by Bohen. We won't really have a better idea, though, until we get the rest of that information on Mr Mathers."

Deakins nodded, taking the hint.

"I'll put a call through to the office back home as soon as we get back to CID."

"And in the meantime," Jack said with a faint smile, "we'll have Professor Bohen to keep us occupied."

* * *

They arrived back to find Bohen waiting somewhat impatiently in the interview room, minus a lawyer.

"Where's his brief, George?" Jack asked.

"Said he didn't want one. Said he didn't have anything to hide."

Jack gave a short bark of laughter.

"Well, we'll just see, won't we?"

* * *

Bohen looked up, and a tight smile crossed his lips.

"Inspector Frost. Detectives… Goren and Eames, wasn't it? I wasn't expecting the pleasure of your company against quite so soon. Let me guess… I suppose this is again to do with Erik Mathers?"

"You guessed right," Jack confirmed. "We have a few more questions for you, Professor."

Bohen nodded amiably, settling back a little in the seat. "Of course. But I'd like to point out that you really didn't need to get a warrant to bring me down here. I would have come quite willingly had you asked."

"That's very cooperative of you," Jack said emotionlessly.

Bohen smiled.

"Just before you start the… interrogation, there are a couple of things I wanted to say. You see, you rather caught me on the hop yesterday, and I hadn't had the chance to think back on it all clearly. The truth is, I had a little more to do with Erik than I originally claimed. I introduced him to the Archery Club when he expressed interest in the sport. If I remember rightly, he turned out to be something of a natural… particularly when it came to using the crossbow."

Goren and Eames shared grim looks. Bohen caught the shared look, and smiled sympathetically.

"My apologies, Detectives. I suppose you've already experienced the lad's skill with a crossbow personally, haven't you?"

"After introducing him to the club," Eames said without missing a beat, "did you spend anymore time with him?"

Bohen shrugged.

"I saw him here and there, usually only in passing. Look, I am sorry that I didn't inform you yesterday about introducing Erik to the club, but that is honestly as far as it went. I saw him now and then outside the classroom and our private tutorials, and that was it."

"Did you ever see Mathers at the club with anyone else?" Jack asked.

"There was one person that I saw him with at the club on a regular basis," Bohen admitted. "I believe it may have been one of the instructors, though I'm sure I'd seen this fellow at the university as well. It was eight years ago, and I'm afraid I just don't remember. Look, I'm fully aware that I'm a suspect, and right now I suppose I probably seem like a very feasible option. I do hope, though, that you're all smart enough to realise sooner, rather than later, that I am not the individual that you're looking for. I told you before, I do not condone anything that Erik did…"

"We know," Eames interrupted, sounding bored. "You abhor violence. Professor, do you have any idea just how many times we hear lines like that? And ninety percent of the time, it's the killer throwing it out."

Bohen flashed her his most charming smile.

"Dear Detective Eames, I hope you won't take too long to realise that I belong in the ten percent minority."

Eames turned away, throwing a disgusted look at Goren who smiled a little in amusement, then opened his folder and pushed some photos across the table to Bohen.

"Perhaps you can help us in another way, Professor."

"What way would that be?" Bohen asked, eyeing the photos suspiciously.

"Helping us to profile the killer. These are some of the photos taken of the Denton victims. If you could just take a look… tell us what you think."

Sparing Goren a mildly agitated glance, Bohen picked up the photos and began to look through them slowly, cringing noticeably as he came across some of the more graphic images. Finally, he laid the photos face-down on the table.

"I'm sorry, Detective Goren. I really don't know what to say. The man who committed these acts… He really is a true sadist." Bohen paused, looking intently up at Goren. "But again, I suspect you already knew that thanks to your own experiences with Erik. Tell me, Detective, what was it really like?"

A hint of a frown flickered across Goren's face.

"What was what like?"

"Being up on that mountain, knowing someone was chasing you… hunting you down like an animal. What was it like, knowing you were facing a horrendous death?"

Though Goren didn't so much as flinch at that brutally blunt question, the look in his eyes spoke in volumes.

"All right," Jack growled. "Let's stick to the matter at hand, shall we?"

"My apologies," Bohen said, sounding less than apologetic. "That was a rather tactless question, wasn't it? Please forgive me, I just can't help my curiosity.

"It was terrifying," Goren said abruptly, drawing startled looks from both Jack and Eames. "How frequently did you see Erik at the Archery Club?"

"I frequented the establishment two to four times a month, and he was always there when I visited. An almost paralysing fear, was it?"

"Yes. Did you ever socialise with him when you saw him at the club?"

"No. I've no doubt he had his own friends there to… _socialise_ with. I'm told he tended to the visit the club up to two or three times a week. Did Erik take any measures to ensure he had the advantage? Or did he provide an equal playing field?"

"He gave himself as much of an advantage as possible. Who told you he visited the club that often?"

"One of the other students in my class mentioned, I think. And no, I don't recall who it was. What sort of an advantage?"

"He starved us for two days, then released us in the middle of a remote mountain range without jackets or shoes."

Bohen leant forward a little, across the table.

"Were you afraid you were going to die, Detective Goren?"

Goren stared back at Bohen, one fist pressed against his lips, his eyes half-closed. To Eames, it was starting to look frighteningly familiar to another interrogation that now seemed a lifetime ago, with a young, blond Australian woman called Nicole Wallace.

"Yes. Yes, I was."

Bohen sat back, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that sort of terror, Detective. If I'd had any idea, I would never have taken an interest in the boy, and I would have strongly recommended he be removed from my class. I sincerely hope you catch the one responsible for the deaths of those poor people here in Denton."

"Just one last thing, Professor," Goren said. "Do you recall whether Dean Graham ever had any contact with Erik?"

"David? Well, I didn't really know him back then, but I suppose he could have. I do know that David belonged to the Archery Club as well, though I never actually saw him there myself. He taught Economics, you see. Our paths never really crossed."

Goren pushed back from the table, getting awkwardly to his feet.

"Thankyou, Professor. We'll probably be wanting to talk to you again."

Bohen smiled. "I'll be looking forward to that, Detective Goren. This has been… most enlightening." He looked across at Jack. "Am I free to go, Inspector Frost? Or do you have anything more you'd like to grill me on?"

Jack was starting to look quite sour by then.

"No, I think that covers it, Professor. We will, however, be taking some DNA samples before you go… if you have no objections?"

"None at all. I have nothing to hide."

"Wonderful, very sporting of you," Jack said with just a hint of sarcasm to his voice. "Just do yourself… and us… a favour, and don't take any spur of the moment trips."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Bohen retorted.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Eames asked Goren once they were back in the relative privacy of the task room.

"He's not the killer," Goren said flatly, ignoring his partner's concerned question. "There was no reaction when I showed him those photos…"

"No reaction?" Deakins echoed. "He was nearly sick."

"That's not what I mean," Goren said as he sat down gingerly in the nearest chair. "The photos I showed him weren't of the Denton victims. They were photos of Erik Mathers' New York victims. Our killer is sadistic, like Bohen said, but he's also got a very big ego. If Bohen had been the killer, or been directly involved with the killings, he would have known the photos weren't related to the Denton killings. He would have reacted in some way."

"Or maybe he's just a damned good actor," Eames retorted. "You haven't answered my question, Bobby. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he murmured, though he did not look her in the eye as he spoke.

"What was all that about in there?" Jack asked.

"Tit for tat," Goren explained, "a question for a question, and an answer for an answer. By answering his questions, he was obliged to answer mine. He was right, the person we're looking for is a sadist, and Bohen is no sadist. He'd take delight in influencing someone else into doing evil things… to study the psychological effects… but he's not capable of committing those acts himself. He… He just doesn't have the stomach for it. You said it yourself, Captain, the photos made him physically sick. He's just suffering from an overly large dose of curiosity. He's not the one we're looking for."

"So we're back at square one again," Jack said, sounding as frustrated as he looked.

"Not exactly," Deakins said, drawing three questioning looks. He held an unsealed envelope out to Jack.

"The rest of the information on Mathers arrived while you three were talking to Amon Bohen. One of the most interesting bits is regarding the house at the bottom of Gore Mountain."

"The one you went to first?" Eames asked. Deakins nodded.

"Yes. We tracked it down because it was registered under the name of Lucas Graham, which is the alias Mathers used while he operated in Miami. That house was purchased forty-six years ago by one Lucas David Graham."

"Lucas _David_ Graham?" Jack echoed, stunned. Deakins nodded.

"That's right. Lucas Graham migrated with his only son to the United States from Britain in 1968, when his son was ten years old. We also got a copy of Erik Mathers' birth certificate. He was born Erik Lucas Graham. His name was changed to Mathers by his mother, after she divorced her husband, and he returned to Britain. Erik Mathers' grandfather's name was Lucas Graham, and his father is David Graham."

"David Graham, Dean of Denton University?" Eames asked in astonishment. Deakins nodded.

"The same. It might be prudent to bring Professor Graham in for a chat, don't you think?"

Jack looked over at Goren and Eames, a fresh gleam in his eyes.

"I think that sounds like a damned good idea."

* * *


	8. In The Blink Of An Eye

_Author's note_: To _Franta_, if you can't work out whether Bohen's curiosity translates into guilt, then I guess I'm doing something right!  
Seriously, I think you will have a question or two answered in this chapter. Maybe.

* * *

_Office of Dean David Graham,  
__Denton University_

David Graham was waiting for them when they arrived back at the university, a small apologetic smile on his face at their obvious surprise.

"Amon called just a couple of minutes ago," he explained. "He said you asked him about me while interviewing him. I gathered from what he said that you were probably going to be turning up back here fairly soon."

Jack, Goren and Eames exchanged quick glances. One suspect tipping off another suspect equalled collaboration in all their books. Graham was looking thoroughly sheepish by then.

"I probably just put my foot very firmly in my mouth then, didn't I?"

"You might say that," Jack agreed.

"Well… I suppose that you probably want me to come with you back to the station. I assure you, though, that's not necessary. I'm quite willing to answer any questions you might have, if I can."

Jack gave a short, dry laugh.

"Well, if only everyone was so cooperative."

Graham indicated his office door.

"Shall we go through to my office? I'll have my secretary bring in tea and coffee."

"So what would you like to know?" Graham asked as they sat on the comfortable sofas with mugs of hot tea or coffee.

"Erik Mathers is your son," Goren said bluntly. Graham looked ruefully at Jack.

"Doesn't pull any punches, does he?"

"We don't have time for niceties," Jack said. "There's a killer to catch."

"Fair enough," Graham murmured apologetically. "Yes, Detective Goren, I'm aware that Erik is my son. I did not, however, become certain of that fact until after your previous visit. I recognised the name, of course, when I was contacted by Detective Sergeant Toolan, but I didn't know for certain until I'd read his file for myself."

Eames regarded him sceptically.

"So what you're saying is that your son spent a year at the same university where you taught, and you didn't even know?"

"Is it really such a stretch of the imagination?" Graham asked. "Erik never made any effort to approach me… At least, not that I'm aware of As far as I know, he didn't even know I was here. So I'm afraid I'm really not much help to you."

"You were a member of the archery club, right?" Jack asked. Graham smiled a little.

"Still am, Inspector. I love the sport quite passionately."

He motioned to the wall, indicating a mint condition long bow that hung there, and a display case filled with arrows. Goren got up awkwardly, and limped across to the wall for a closer look.

"I noticed these when we were in here yesterday. Long bows like these can't be easy… or cheap to come by."

"They're not," Graham confirmed. "It's the pride of what is unfortunately a rather small collection. I couldn't use it to save my life, but I love having it there to admire."

"It reminds me of the types of weapons described in The Lord of the Rings," Goren said, coming back to sit down once more beside Eames, deliberately ignoring the look she shot at him as she pushed the walking stick back into his hand. By then, Graham was looking positively delighted.

"Doesn't it, just? I was tempted to have it engraved, but there's no one in this area with the skill to do it, and I couldn't really bear having it out of my sight for so long. But if you don't mind me asking, how is the subject of archery relevant?"

"Amon Bohen introduced Erik to the archery club," Goren replied. "From what we've been told, he was there a lot… Up to three times a week."

"Ah. And you're thinking that if I didn't meet up with Erik anywhere on the campus, I probably did at the club. I see your logic, but again, I'm afraid I can't help you. It's entirely possible that I did meet him at the club, but if he knew who I was, he certainly didn't let on. And I most certainly didn't recognise him. Even now, I have no idea what he looks like. Would, ah… that is, if you don't mind me asking… I know my son committed some terrible crimes, but I'm just not very good at following international news. Where is Erik now? Is he in prison?"

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks, each wondering how much they should disclose. Graham sighed faintly, reading their expressions accurately.

"I see. He's dead, isn't he? May I ask what happened?"

Again, silence met the question. Then, finally, Goren spoke in an admirably even voice.

"Your son was shot dead by a police officer before he could kill one of his last two victims."

Graham shook his head sadly.

"Tragic. I take it, though, that his last two victims survived?"

"They did," Eames said firmly.

"Well, thank God for that," Graham murmured. He paused, then went on thoughtfully. "I assume that you're hoping to unmask this new killer by learning as much as you can about the twelve months Erik stayed here?"

"Yes, something like that," Jack said vaguely.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. But I can't tell you what I don't know. There is something else I can tell you, though. Not about Erik, but about Amon Bohen. Whether it has anything to do with this current business, I couldn't say, but it would probably be beneficial for you to know. Four or five years back, before my tenure as Dean started, Amon very nearly lost his job. He conducted a highly unorthodox experiment with some of his student, and apparently it went horribly awry."

"Unorthodox?" Eames asked. "How do you mean, unorthodox?"

"Well, I don't know the details myself. The record of it was removed before I took over. All I know is that it was approved by his department head, but apparently the experiment got terribly out of hand, and a student was nearly killed. If you want details, you'd best speak to Richard Cobb. He was the department head when it happened. He's retired now, but I'm sure he won't mind speaking to you. I know for a fact that he wanted Amon sacked, but the Dean… my predecessor… wouldn't agree."

"Were charges ever filed?" Goren asked.

"No criminal charges were laid," Graham answered. "I know that much, because Amon would not still be teaching here otherwise. Even the Dean couldn't have saved him his job had that been the case. It did cost him, though. When Richard retired two years ago, Amon threw his hat in the ring for promotion to department head and he was soundly knocked back by the governing board. Quite bitter about it, he was. Came to me one evening and asked if I couldn't influence things in his favour. I couldn't, of course. Those sorts of matters are completely out of my hands. Amon went away very angry, I'm afraid."

"We'd like the contact details for Richard Cobb," Eames said firmly. Graham nodded obligingly.

"I'll get those for you before you leave. Was there, ah… anything else?"

"Yes," Jack said as they got up. "We'd appreciate it if you'd present yourself at the CID precinct before the end of today and submit to a DNA swab. Totally voluntary on your part, of course. For the moment."

Graham smiled in understanding.

"In other words, Inspector, volunteer now, or you'll serve me with a warrant later. Fair enough. I have a meeting to attend, and then I shall… present myself immediately after I've been home to sort out a few things. All right?"

Jack nodded.

"Thankyou, that'll be fine."

* * *

"You're not really going to trust him to voluntarily turn up at CID to give a DNA sample, are you?" Eames asked incredulously as she, Goren and Jack headed back to Jack's car. Jack merely smiled, and hit speed dial on his cell phone.

"George…? Yes, we're just leaving the university now. We have one other person to interview and then we'll be on our way back… Oh? Yes, of course, tell him I'll be happy to do that. What I need you to do is give it approximately one hour, then come out to the university and pick up David Graham, and take him back to CID to provide a DNA sample. …No, you won't need a warrant. He's already offered to provide it voluntarily. Let's just say we want to be sure it doesn't slip his mind. All right?"

"Sly," Eames commented with a smile. "We like that."

"Yes, well, you didn't really think I'd trust someone to show up to give a DNA sample on their own recognisance, do you? By the way, Bobby, your physio appointment has been shifted to one o'clock, courtesy of your captain. He asked if I minded making sure you got there, protests notwithstanding."

Goren held up his hands defensively.

"No protests here. After last night, I'm glad it's sooner rather than later."

"That silly twit of a kid really knocked you about, didn't he?" Jack asked. Goren winced visibly as he got into the car.

"Yeah… But it could have been worse."

Jack paused, eyeing Goren sceptically as the big detective struggled to get his injured leg into a position that didn't grieve him too much.

"Oh really? How?"

"He was warned when his doctor released him from the Rehab Centre," Eames explained. "If he broke his leg again, especially inside the next six months or so, it would really finish things off. He'd never fully recover from it, and he would probably always need the brace and walking stick."

"I'd say that's worse," Jack agreed. He glanced at the clock. It read eleven-thirty. "If we get out to see Richard Cobb now, we'll just have time for lunch before your appointment. Unless you'd prefer to wait until afterwards…?"

"I'd rather not eat right before physio," Goren said apologetically. "Doesn't go down too well. You two can get something while I'm with the therapist, though."

Eames reached over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"And let you go through physio on your own? No way, Bobby. That's not how we work, and you know it. Lunch can wait. Jack…?"

Jack nodded amiably. "Fine by me. Cobb, physio and lunch it is, in that order."

* * *

Richard Cobb turned out to be an elderly man whose body was starting to fail him, but whose mind was still sharp as a tack. He welcomed the three detectives into his small, self-contained unit at the local retirement village, apologising profusely for not being able to offer them tea or coffee.

"Quite all right," Jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We won't keep you for long, Mr Cobb. We just had a few questions about Amon Bohen."

Cobb stared at Jack for a long moment, the friendly smile fading rapidly from his face.

"Amon Bohen? There's a name I'd hoped I'd never hear again. Sadistic bastard."

Goren, Eames and Jack all exchanged glances. That was a completely unprovoked reaction. It was going to prove interesting to see just how much Cobb was willing to divulge to them.

"We were told you gave approval for Bohen to perform an experiment," Eames said. Cobb scowled at the memory.

"Yes, and God forgive me, I wish I hadn't. But when Amon outlaid it to me, it seemed perfectly reasonable. I never imagined he'd take it as far as he did."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Goren asked quietly.

"Amon called it Hide and Seek for Adults. I suppose that alone should have tipped me off. There's an old house… or, at least, there _was_ an old house on the eastern side of Denton… A big place that bordered the Denton Woods. It looked like your stereotypical haunted house. It had fifty or more rooms, and was filled with hidden passages, and the like. So the stories go, at any rate. Amon got permission to use it over the course of a weekend. He hand-picked a dozen students to participate. Half were classed as prisoners, and the other half were the jailers."

"We know this experiment," Eames said ruefully. Cobb shook his head.

"Not this particular version, Detective. You see, what Amon conveniently left out of his campaign to me was that the half that were prisoners were to be given three hours to hide, and after that three hours was up, the other students would be sent into the house to hunt them down. He also neglected to tell me that he was going to provide the students doing the hunting with weapons."

Goren and Eames exchanged grim looks. That was an altogether too familiar scenario. Cobb went on, seemingly unaware of their reactions.

"The students doing the hunting were given a free hand. One of them claimed Amon had told them they were to use whatever measures they felt were necessary in order to 'capture and subdue' their prey." Cobb shook his head in distress. "I never learned the exact details of what went on inside that house, but when those students were released, three of them claimed they'd been tortured physically and psychologically. Out of the other three, two refused to talk about the experience, and one was deemed too traumatised to be able to even remember being in there in the first place. The police looked into it, but in the end they had to drop their investigation. They could not find any evidence of the physical torture that was claimed, and psychological torture is notoriously difficult to prosecute. I campaigned for Amon's dismissal, but the university had no grounds to sack him after the police ceased investigating. In the end, he was reprimanded, and that is more or less all that came of it." Cobb paused, then looked at each of them. "I never trusted Amon again after that. I couldn't. A couple of times he came to me wanting permission to conduct experiments, but I never gave my consent to him again. All I can say is that he's damned lucky none of those students were killed."

* * *

"Sounds like the professor decided to try doing a bit of Erik's research for him," Eames muttered as they headed back to Jack's car a short time later. Jack shot Goren a dark look.

"Not a sadist, eh?"

Goren frowned. "I still don't believe that he's capable of carrying out those acts himself. On the other hand, there is every chance that he is the one psychologically manipulating the person who is doing the actual killings."

"Oh, that's great!" Jack exploded. "That is an absolutely brilliant insight, Bobby. What a pity you couldn't have enlightened us earlier. Say, when we actually had Professor Bohen in custody!"

"I'm sorry, Jack," Goren said wearily, "but the point is that right now it's speculation, nothing more. We don't have any hard evidence pointing back to him. It's all just hearsay. We couldn't even hold him for twenty-four hours on what we have so far."

Jack let his breath out in a rush.

"Sorry, but this is starting to get frustrating. I keep waiting for the next body to turn up. Anyway, my money is still on the professor. I say it's him, or perhaps one of his students. I might have Hazel get a warrant so we can examine the records of his current students. I don't know… Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Great," Eames moaned as they climbed back into Jack's car. "More reading."

Jack glanced at his watch. "Yes, but not yet. First we're off to the hospital, and then to lunch."

* * *

Jack awoke with a start to the shrill sound of his cell phone ringing. He sat frozen for a long moment, his mind a muddle before he finally remembered where he was. Specifically, he was sitting in one rather uncomfortable plastic chair in the corridor outside the physiotherapy suite. A glance at his watch told him it was just after half-past one, meaning Goren would be perhaps another twenty or thirty minutes at the most, assuming there really hadn't been any serious harm done in the knock he'd taken from Adrian Bailey.

Sighing faintly, he answered the call.

* * *

Eames looked around in vague surprise as Jack strode into the physio room, his face a mask of anxiety.

"What's wrong?"

Jack hesitated in answering, looking across the floor to where the physio was working with Goren. The detective was lying on a long, waist high table while the therapist massaged and manipulated his right leg. The pained look on his face was enough to give anyone pause.

"Is he all right?"

Eames nodded.

"He will be."

"He just seems to be in quite a bit of pain."

"It can't be helped. Cope with a little bit of pain now, or suffer the consequences later. Bobby learnt the hard way."

"Oh? How do you mean?"

"When he was released from hospital back home, he decided to accidentally on purpose forget about his first physio session as an outpatient. When I went to see him a day or so after that, I found him on the floor in his bedroom. He was in so much pain that he couldn't move. He'd been there on the floor for nearly a day… couldn't even move to reach the phone to call for help, it was that bad. I had to call an ambulance, and he spent another couple of weeks in hospital. So as much as he hates the physio, he's never missed another appointment. He knows from experience what could happen if he does."

Jack continued to watch the physio work with Goren for a long moment before he suddenly remembered what he had come in for in the first place.

"I just got a call from George. Amon Bohen is dead."

Eames did a double-take, staring at him in shock.

"_What_?"

"He was found a short while ago in his office, found by his secretary. Had an arrow, straight through his throat."

"Oh god…"

"We need to get out to the university, quickly as possible."

"All right. Let me go and tell Bobby."

* * *

"Come to rescue me?" Goren asked hopefully as Eames approached. She offered him a half-hearted smile, then looked over at the physiotherapist.

"Is he nearly done?"

"Another twenty minutes or so," was the bland reply. Goren looked at her questioningly.

"What is it?"

"Amon Bohen was just found dead in his office at the university, with an arrow clean through his throat."

Goren sat up fast – a little too fast, wincing at the pain that flared through his leg.

"We're done."

The therapist shot Goren a threatening look.

"No, we're not. Lie back down Detective Goren. You aren't going anywhere until I'm done, and that won't be for at least another ten minutes at the absolute minimum."

"We have to go…" Goren protested, trying to get up only to have the therapist push him very firmly back down.

"Don't make me resort to admitting you for the afternoon, Detective. You can go in ten minutes. No sooner."

Goren looked pleadingly at Eames, his expression begging her for help. Eames nodded, and had to fight an urge to laugh.

"We'll bring him back first thing tomorrow morning. Scout's honour."

The look she got suggested the therapist was less than convinced. Finally, though, he conceded with a sigh and stepped back from the table, allowing Goren to sit up.

"All right, but I want to see you back here promptly tomorrow morning, no later than eight. And I mean in the morning! You're the one who'll suffer if you don't keep that appointment."

"Scout's honour," Goren promised quickly as he swung himself off the table. The physio frowned darkly at him.

"I'm not kidding, Detective Goren. You'd better come back tomorrow morning, or I guarantee you'll be in here as an in-patient before you can make it to your next appointment."

"I'll be back in the morning," Goren insisted. "I promise."

The therapist still looked sceptical, but conceded with a reluctant nod.

"Okay, then."

* * *

"So that's one theory blown clean out of the water," Jack muttered disconsolately as he drove them back to the university. Eames grimaced.

"I don't know. I'm starting to get a horrible sense of dejavu. This is what happened back home. We had a suspect lined up… We thought we were close to being able to make an arrest, and then our suspect turned up dead, and we found ourselves back at square one."

"Not to mention it was at about this point that Mathers grabbed us," Goren added. Eames sighed.

"Yeah, thanks for _that_ reminder, Bobby."

"Well, we aren't exactly back at square one," Jack mused. "Pretty damn close, mind you, but not completely." I'm liking more than ever now the theory that one of Bohen's students is the killer. Perhaps they got worried… thought that Bohen was close to giving them up."

"Maybe," Goren murmured. "Or, perhaps they were pissed off… Maybe they thought that we were more or less giving Bohen the credit for work that wasn't his."

"A jealous killer?" Jack asked. "Wonderful."

"Well, most killers have a big ego," Goren said. "Particularly killers like this one. And that might be the way to lure him out."

Jack glanced quizzically at Goren.

"You mean, leak to the press that we believe the killer is dead? Bobby, that is a very dangerous tact, for three reasons that I can think of. Firstly, we don't have the same level of cooperation with the press that you probably have back in New York. There is no way we could guarantee that they wouldn't print something that we _don't _want published yet. Like the fact that the story is just a ploy to bait the killer. Secondly, Mullet would have my head if I pulled a stunt like that without his knowledge, and if we bother to tell him, he'll flat-out refuse anyway. And thirdly, we could just provoke this maniac into committing another murder. And did I mention that Mullet would have a fit…?"

Eames smiled humourlessly.

"As far as Mullet is concerned, leave him to Deakins. And let us handle the press. As far as provoking another killing goes, this guy is not going to stop now. He's going to kill again, whether we try to push his buttons or not."

Jack sighed heavily.

"All right, then. Let's check this one out, and then we'll get together with your captain at CID and discuss strategy."

* * *

Detective Sergeant Hazel Wallace was waiting at the scene when they arrived. Jack greeted her amiably.

"Hello, Hazel. Mullet stick you with this, then?"

She smiled calmly.

"It's all right, sir. This is more interesting than picking up that professor for a DNA sample."

"Oh, right, so that's where George is now, is it? He's a little late. I told him just to give it an hour before coming to collect Graham."

"He did, sir. He waited an hour like you asked, and then he and Captain Deakins came out here to pick him up."

"Deakins went with him?" Goren asked as he went to get a closer look at the body. Hazel nodded.

"I think he'd had enough of Mr Mullet. George asked him if he'd like to tag along, and he practically jumped at the chance. Anyway, they apparently go here to find Professor Graham had gone home, so they headed off there to get him. Then we got the call about Bohen, and Mullet sent me out here to keep an eye on things until you got here. I expect George and Captain Deakins will be on their way back to CID by now."

"All right, then," Jack said. "Well, I suppose we'll catch up with them back at CID, then. Now, what have we got here…?"

Hazel pointed to the office's only window, which was half-opened.

"The arrow was fired through that window. They're still trying to work out how far away the killer would have been."

Jack frowned as he looked from the open window to Bohen's body, which was slumped over his desk, the arrow straight through his throat.

"Well, whoever pulled this off had to have been a very skilled archer."

"I'll say," Eames agreed. "Bohen had just been released from police custody after we interviewed him, and a DNA sample was taken. They could have taken a shot at him anywhere between CID and here, and yet they chose to wait until he was sitting here at his desk, and the only shot they had was through a half-opened window."

"This arrow wasn't fired from a crossbow," Goren announced as he examined the arrow. "It's too long for a crossbow arrow… The shaft is too thick. I'd guess it was fired from aregular bow... or maybe... a long bow..."

Jack turned to Hazel.

"Take a couple of uniforms, and start asking around. Surely a person running around with a bow and arrows would have been noticed by someone."

Eames took a slow step forward, past Jack and Hazel, noticing the way Goren had suddenly tensed.

"Bobby? What's wrong?"

"The arrow," Goren said quietly. "I've seen it before… or, at least, one just like it."

Jack frowned for a moment as he joined Goren by the body. A moment later, realisation dawned on his face.

"The display on the wall in Graham's office. There was a long bow on the wall, and arrows in a large, glassed-in frame. But are you sure this is one of those arrows?"

Goren straightened up, a grim look on his face.

"There's only one way to find out."

* * *

"Nothing seems to be missing," Eames commented after Graham's secretary had let them into his office. Goren headed over to the wall to peer first at the long bow that was hung high on the wall, and then at the arrows in the display frame. Sure enough, everything appeared to be intact, with not even so much as a single arrow missing.

"If it was one of David Graham's arrow," Goren said, "he could have… could have brought it from home. He would have a large stockpile…"

"He did say he was no good at the sport," Jack mused. Eames rolled her eyes.

"He wouldn't be the first to lie through his teeth to us."

"All right," Jack sighed as he pulled out his cell phone. "Let me call George. Either he or Deakins might have seen something in Graham's home while they were there."

A long moment passed, and then Jack pressed the cancel button, looking slightly puzzled.

"No answer. Well, I suppose they may be on the road."

Goren and Eames exchanged glances. Dejavu…

"I'll try Deakins," Eames murmured, hitting speed dial on her phone. Again, the phone rang out without being answered. She looked at Goren and Jack, the first hints of worry creasing her brow.

"Deakins isn't answering, either."

Goren looked over at Jack, the threat of panic just visible in his brown eyes.

"If it is Graham, then he's known who we were all along. Which means…"

"He knows who Deakins is," Eames concluded grimly.

Jack looked from one to the other, confused.

"How do you mean…?"

"Deakins killed Erik Mathers," Gorenreminded himin a strained voice. "He killed Erik to save my life. If Graham is the one, then he probably knows that."

Jack didn't hesitate then, but quickly keyed in a memorised number. As he did so, he spoke urgently to the secretary.

"What's Graham's home address?"

She answered falteringly, her eyes going wide as it occurred to her that something was very wrong.

"Fifty-three, Reilly Avenue…"

"This is Detective Inspector Frost. I need a unit sent out to fifty-three Reilly Avenue, immediately. Proceed with extreme caution, suspect is one David Graham. You are to presume that he is armed and dangerous."

Jack ended the call, then looked to his white-faced colleagues.

"Let's move."

* * *

_Residence of David Graham  
__Fifty-three Reilly Avenue_

By all appearances, the house was deserted. There was no visible movement anywhere, and all seemed dark within.

"You two, wait here," Jack ordered them as he turned to head around the side of the house.

"Are you kidding?" Eames asked incredulously. "You don't even have a gun!"

Jack bit back a groan. "All right, but stay behind me." He paused, looking at Goren who had his own gun out and was heading for the front door. "Bobby, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Securing the front," Goren answered in a tone that effectively stymied any protests Jack might have had. Shaking his head, he hurried around to the back, with Eames right beside him.

The back door was wide open, and fresh tracks from the grass onto the paved drive way told them a vehicle had been driven out of the yard not long ago. There was a loud, distinct sound as Goren kicked the front door wide open at the other end of the house. Then, before Jack could protest, Eames stepped inside, gun at the ready.

"Jack! Alex!"

They followed the sound of Goren's voice, and found him just inside the front door, by the entrance to the study.

"Please tell me you didn't kick that door open with your bad leg," Eames growled, frowning. He shook his head.

"Of course I didn't. I kicked it open with my left leg. Jack, we need to call for an ambulance."

Jack looked into the study, swore loudly and strode in, past the two detectives. Lying on the floor inside the door, face down in a small pool of his own blood, was George Toolan.

Jack, Goren and Eames exchanged dismayed looks. None of them needed to search the house to know that Graham was gone, and that he'd taken Jim Deakins with him.

* * *


	9. Dangerous Games

_Author's note_: I'm not promising not to kill off Deakins. I'm not promising _not_ to kill off any of them. From here on, anything could happen. Almost…

_To Adina-Anne_: yes, I saw that Cold Case episode recently, and had a small chuckle to myself at the similarities. I take some small relief in knowing I wrote Deliverance long before I knew that particular episode existed.

_To Shellster_: Bobby really ought to be more careful, oughtn't he? Silly boy could do himself another injury…

* * *

_Residence of David Graham_

Within ten minutes, the property was crawling with police, all searching desperately for some clue as to where Graham may have gone with his hostage. Inside the house, in the study, a very dazed DS George Toolan sat up on the floor, a paramedic holding a compress to the back of his head.

"Think carefully, George," Jack told him, acutely aware of the way Goren was pacing back and forth behind him, the monotonous thump, thump, thump of his walking stick on the floor a steadily increasing irritation.

"I'm sorry, Jack," George mumbled. "It's all just a blur. We… We got to the house… Graham let us in. He didn't seem bothered that we'd turned up to get him. It was almost like he was expecting us. Anyway… He asked us to wait, said he had to get something. Captain Deakins… I think he came in here. He called out to me. I followed him in here… Next thing I know, I'm waking up with a monster of a headache."

"All right," Jack murmured. "That's good, George. Now, you go to the hospital, get yourself patched up, and I don't want to see you back at work for at least a day or two, all right?"

George nodded, too disorientated to argue. Jack watched the paramedics guide the injured officer out, then looked over to where Goren was still pacing frenetically.

"Do you mind, Bobby?" he asked snappishly. Goren slowed to a halt and looked at Jack, a wild, barely-controlled fear in his brown eyes.

"We have to find him. Graham won't give him a chance to escape. He _will_ kill him."

"We will find him," Jack insisted, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. "But we have to work together now. We really…"

He trailed off as Mullett rounded the corner, his round face pale and reflecting the shock they were all feeling.

"Jack? What in God's name happened?"

Struggling to maintain some degree of calm, Jack explained as much as he could. Even as he spoke, he could read the look on Mullett's face as clear as day. Mullett's first thoughts were of the political scandal and the international incident that was suddenly looming…

"All right," Mullett said in a quiet, grim voice. "We all need to stop, and take a moment to calm down. Hot heads and high tempers are not going to get Captain Deakins back safely." He looked over at Goren and Eames, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. "And we _are_ going to get him back safely, no matter what. Jack…?"

Jack stared at Mullett, not sure if he was hearing correctly.

"Sir…?"

"I want all the stops pulled out, Jack. Circulate a description of Graham's car to every uniform in Denton. I'll call a couple of colleagues, and we'll get a helicopter in the air within half an hour."

It took just a moment to process that Mullett had just taken charge, and had effectively brought a level of calm to a situation that had been about to blow sky-high. Whatever his reasons, Mullett was suddenly acting like the cop that he was, rather than the political ass-kisser that he often tried to be.

"Right away, sir," Jack agreed, and hurried to do as he'd been instructed. Mullett watched him go, then turned his attention to Goren and Eames.

"Detectives, I imagine you both must be feeling fairly distressed by now…"

Eames looked up at Mullett darkly.

"Don't ask us to stay out of this."

"I wasn't going to do anything of the sort," Mullett reassured her. "But I need to be sure that you can both approach this situation with calm minds. I'm going to need you both to go back thoroughly over everything you and Jack have uncovered since you arrived here two days ago. I'm sure you're both very much aware that even the seemingly most insignificant detail could be the key to locating Graham. I appreciate that you probably want to be more actively involved, but…"

"No, it's okay," Goren said interrupted, and Eames was quietly grateful that the wild look had faded from his eyes, to be replaced with a grim determination. "We can do that."

Mullett nodded, visibly relieved.

"Good. Thankyou."

* * *

"So now we know how Deakins felt when we went missing."

Eames and Jack both glanced at Goren as Jack drove them back to CID.

"We at least know who's responsible," Jack pointed out, trying desperately to find something positive to cling to.

"A lot of good that's going to do when we don't know where to look," Eames said bleakly. Goren laughed, a short, bitter sound.

"And we thought we were the ones in danger."

"Graham couldn't have known Deakins would come with you," Jack mused. "Now, George said that it was almost as though Graham was expecting them when they got there. I'll wager that he was expecting us to turn up there, not George and Deakins. I imagine he had to very rapidly alter his plans to include Deakins."

"If that's true," Eames ventured, "then Graham may not know that it was Deakins who killed his son. He may have taken him to use as a lure for us."

"He knows," Goren said dully, staring blindly out the window. "He knew enough to send that email directly to me in the first place. He knows."

"We'll find them," Jack said quietly. "We'll get him back safely."

"Don't make promises that you might not be able to keep," Eames said. Jack glanced at her in the rear vision mirror.

"We're damn well going to try."

* * *

_Unknown location_

Jim Deakins awoke to darkness, and a blinding headache. At first, nothing made sense. Then, slowly, his wits returned to him, and he was able to take conscious note of his surroundings with what senses he still had.

He was sitting in a large, heavy chair. His arms were wrenched around behind him, his wrists bound tightly enough to threaten to cut off the circulation. His legs were bound equally tightly to the front legs of the chair, ensuring he couldn't move so much as an inch.

There was a blindfold over his eyes, but nothing covering his mouth. He swallowed an instinctive urge to shout. He was obviously somewhere that no one would hear him if he did shout, otherwise he would have been gagged as well. So shouting for help that clearly wasn't going to come would only be a pointless waste of precious energy.

He drew in a deep, steadying breath in an effort to calm himself. Though he couldn't see, he guessed from the dank smell that surrounded him that he was perhaps in a basement of some sort. A basement that hadn't been occupied for a long time, he thought, briefly hoping the place was at least free of rats. God, he hated rats.

Forcing his thoughts away from that, Deakins tried to shuffled his dazed thoughts into some semblance of order. He remembered going with George Toolan to David Graham's home to get him and take him back to CID so the forensics officers could collect DNA samples from him. Deakins recalled vaguely that Graham had not been surprised to find the police arriving on his doorstep, although he had seemed momentarily disappointed at seeing George Toolan. Then Graham had seen _him_, and Deakins could have sworn his face lit up for just an instant.

He'd disregarded it, and followed George into the house when Graham invited them in. He'd said he needed to collect a couple of things, and then he'd be ready to go with them.

While waiting, Deakins had been drawn to the study by a glimpse at the far wall through the partially open door. Ignoring the apprehensive look from George, Deakins had pushed the door open and gone in. The sight that had met him had been a chilling one.

Covering the far wall were a multitude of frames. The ones that immediately caught his attention were certificates declaring him the winner of numerous archery tournaments, or citing newly acquired levels of achieved skill in the sport. The rest were news articles clipped from papers, stories about murdered men, women and teenagers. On closer examination, Deakins saw the papers were from both Miami and New York, and the murder victims were Erik Mathers' many victims. A trophy wall, Deakins thought in horror.

Then Deakins had seen something that had very nearly given him heart failure. On the wall were two frames, neither of which had yet been filled, but had a name scrawled in pencil inside each. In the frame on the left, Deakins read 'Robert Goren', and in the frame on the right, 'Alexandra Eames'.

He remembered calling out to George, his hand reaching instinctively for his gun. There were footsteps behind him, and in the next instant a dull crack caused him to turn around in time to see George collapse to the floor. Even as he tried to draw his gun, David Graham charged into the study, wielding a cricket bat, of all things…

Deakins groaned softly as the memories faded into the background of his mind, and he came reluctantly back to the present. Graham's initial disappointment on seeing George Toolan now made sense to Deakins. He had been expecting Goren and Eames to come for him, not George and himself.

Dimly, he wondered whether Graham was aware that it was he who had pulled the trigger and killed Mathers. Maybe… maybe not. If Graham did know, then he was a dead man. He didn't know whether he would be put through the same ordeal that Bobby and Alex had suffered on Gore Mountain, or whether Graham would simply kill him and be done with it. Either way, he had real cause to fear for his life.

In the end, all he could do was speculate, and hope and pray that Bobby and Alex would find him before it was too late.

* * *

_Some hours later  
__CID Headquarters_

"Richard Cobb!"

Jack and Goren both looked up simultaneously at Eames' obscure exclamation.

"What about him?" Jack asked. Eames looked from him to Goren, openly agitated.

"The house that he told us about, the one that Amon Bohen held that experiment in. Do we know who actually owns that place?"

Jack and Goren looked at each other, and then Jack got up and headed for the door.

"Not yet, but we can find out pretty quickly."

* * *

He came back ten minutes later almost at a run, a single faxed sheet clutched in his hands.

"It's owned by Graham," he confirmed, handing the page to Goren as he snatched up his mobile phone, ready to call Mullett. "We'll have a team out there within fifteen minutes…"

Jack's phone rang. Frowning in irritation at the unwanted interruption, Jack answered it with reluctance.

"DI Frost."

"Terribly sorry you missed us earlier at my house, Inspector, but I just couldn't wait around any longer. Tight schedule to keep, you understand."

Jack sucked in a short, sharp breath.

"Graham…"

Soft laughter met Jack's realisation, even as Goren and Eames started up from their chairs in shock.

"That's right, Inspector. Now, tell me where you are right at this moment, and who you're with."

Jack looked wordlessly at Goren and Eames, then glanced around the room. They were, for the moment, alone.

"I'm at CID. I'm with Detectives Goren and Eames."

"Good," Graham almost purred. "Perfect."

"Where are you, you bastard?" Jack burst out. To his growing anger, Graham only laughed again derisively.

"Not yet, Inspector. I'm not quite ready for you yet."

"What is it that you want?"

"I expect that Detective Goren and Detective Eames could probably answer that question, but you don't have time to be asking them at the moment. Since I'm using you for the go-between, you're simply going to have to do it my way, and get your answers one piece at a time. Now, you and your American friends are to exit from your current location immediately, and proceed across town to the payphone on the corner of David and Wilson Streets. You have exactly thirty minutes to get there from the moment this conversation ends, allowing for ten minutes to be able to exit your CID building without raising anyone's suspicions. If you don't reach that phone within the given time frame…"

"You'll do what?" Jack growled. "You'll kill Deakins? You do that, and you'll be signing your own death warrant, Graham. If one of my people doesn't kill you, Bobby Goren or Alex Eames will."

Again Graham only chuckled at the threat.

"Of course I wouldn't kill him, Inspector. At least, not yet. What I will do is put an arrow through his leg, much in the same way that my son did to Detective Eames."

Jack felt his face heat up with anger.

"You sick…"

"Considering I'm the one holding all the cards for the moment, Inspector, I recommend that you don't finish that sentence. Oh, and the three of you are to leave behind your mobile phones. We don't want you making the mistake of alerting anyone once you know where I am. That just might lead to a fatal accident for Captain Deakins. You have thirty minutes, Inspector. Don't be late."

Jack let his breath out in a rush as the call cut out. He turned abruptly to look at Goren and Eames, speaking quickly before either one had the chance to ask what Graham had said.

"Just listen to me before you say anything at all. He's given the three of us thirty minutes to get to public phone of his choosing. We're to leave our phones behind, and we aren't to involve anyone else. If we don't get there in time, he says he'll put an arrow through your captain's leg… like Mathers did to you, Alex."

Eames turned a pale shade of green at the threat, as did Goren. Jack looked at each of them grimly.

"What do you want to do?"

The two detectives looked at each other in silence and then, finally, Goren spoke softly but decisively.

"Get us to that phone box."

* * *

They made it to the phone box with a little over five minutes to spare, after Jack took the liberty of turning on his police light, and running a few red lights. While they waited for the anticipated call, they discussed the grim situation in low voices.

"When I asked Graham what he wanted," Jack said carefully, "he said you two would know."

Goren and Eames looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

"He wants us. He wants me and Alex," Goren told Jack.

"To finish off what his son started," Jack concluded. "Bloody hell…"

"I think you're probably right, Jack," Eames said. "He probably wasn't expecting George and Deakins to turn up at his door. He was probably expecting us."

"And now he's going for the trifecta," Goren added. Eames frowned.

"Pun not appreciated, Bobby."

"Sorry. But you know he's not going to let any of us go. Jack… Maybe, when he gives us the next lot of instructions, Alex and I should go alone."

Jack stared at him incredulously.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you seriously think I would let you go off to face Graham on your own? Mullett would draw and quarter me, and for once I wouldn't be able to fault him!"

"I think what Bobby is trying to say," Eames said tentatively, "is that if we go on alone once we know where he is, you'll be able to call for backup."

Jack shook his head.

"That's not acceptable."

"We aren't trying to be heroes, Jack," Goren argued, but the Inspector was having none of it.

"I'm not letting you two go to face Graham alone. I don't know how we're going to work it, but splitting up is not an option. End of argument."

They had no chance to argue further. The phone suddenly rang, the sound harsh to their ears in the quiet of the evening. Sparing his companions a rueful look, Jack reached across and picked it up.

"We're here."

"Very good, Inspector."

"So what now?" Jack demanded. "You send us on a wild goose chase around Denton?"

"Please, Inspector, credit me with some intelligence. I have no wish to waste anyone's time, least of all my own. That initial demand was simply to get the three of you well away from other potential interfering bodies. Now, do you recall the abandoned house that I expect Richard Cobb told you about? The one in which Amon Bohen conducted his revolutionary, if ill-fated experiment with his students?"

Jack glanced briefly at Eames. Her instincts hadn't been wrong.

"I know the one."

"Good. Take the good detectives, and go there now. I'm giving you fifteen minutes. Once you get there, be sure to park your car in the garage and close the garage door after you. The three of you will then go through the door that leads from the garage into the house. You will find yourselves in a long passageway. You will walk the entire length of that passage, and you _will not_ deviate for any reason. You will go through the last door on the right in that passageway. Then you will receive further instructions. Do you understand?"

"We want proof that Captain Deakins is still alive."

"Inspector, if you aren't here within fifteen minutes of hanging up, I'll give you proof of his death."

It was all Jack could do to stay calm. He knew they were walking headlong into a very deadly situation, but while they believed there was still a chance to save Deakins' life, it was a risk they had to take. There simply was no other way.

"All right," Jack agreed grudgingly.

"Very good, Inspector."

"Just a minute, Graham," Jack growled. "If we do as you say, what sort of guarantee will we get from you?"

Jack's demand was only met with laughter, followed by silence. Jack hung up, then looked grimly back at his companions.

"We have fifteen minutes to get to the abandoned house. You were right, Alex."

She didn't even try to smile. The affirmation was no consolation to any of them. Goren turned and led the way back to the car.

"Let's move."

* * *

"Last chance to turn back, and let us go on alone," Goren said as they approached the long drive of the house in question. Jack frowned.

"Bobby, if you ask me that one more time…"

He left the threat unfinished. Eames sat forward, eyeing the house disconsolately.

"Looks like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

Goren shook his head.

"Great. We really needed _that_ image. Thanks, Alex."

Even he had to admit that she wasn't wrong, though. The house was enormous to look at, but severely run-down. Most of the window facing outwards to the street appeared to be broken and, as they got closer, what had seemed to be a white façade from a distance was actually a fading sickly yellow.

"Talk about your fixer-uppers," Eames muttered. Jack grimaced as he followed the driveway around the side and guided the vehicle into a large garage. The three detectives climbed out slowly.

"He told us to close the garage door," Jack said, reluctantly walking over to pull the roller door down.

"Where to from here?" Goren asked. The question was. There was only one other way out of the garage. Jack pointed to the door which connected the garage to the house.

"We're to go through there, walk all the way down to the end of the hallway, and go through the last door on the right."

Goren reached for the knob, then looked back at Jack. The Inspector fired him a warning look.

"Don't say it, Bobby. I'm right behind you."

"Okay," Goren muttered as he went through the door, "let's do this."

* * *

It's a peculiarity of human nature that fear can affect a person's senses to the point where they see thing completely differently than if they had been relaxed and calm. Such was the case now, as Goren, Eames and Jack entered the hallway beyond the garage. The hallway, in reality no more than eight or nine metres in length, seemed to all three to be far longer. Though well lit by a single bulb, darkness and shadows seemed to creep in on them, like the proverbial monsters out of the closet.

Guns in hand, Goren and Eames led the way along, with Jack close behind them. They passed a door on the right, two on the left, and finally came to the final door on the right.

"Here we are," Goren murmured, his grip tightening fractionally on his gun. The three exchanged grim looks. Then, with a resigned shake of his head, Goren pushed the door open and led the way through.

* * *


	10. Death Trap

_To Shellster_: sorry, I should have made it more obvious that when Eames makes the reference to Texas Chainsaw Massacre, she is actually referring to the recent movie remake, and not to a supposed actual event. I know TCM is fictional (thank God), and is actually loosely inspired by the Ed Gein murders. As for the rats, I just decided to chuck that in. I love giving characters phobias. (With Goren, it'd be needles – see 'Post Mortem: Stress Position'. Haven't decided on one yet for Eames.)

* * *

They found themselves in a small room that was furnished with only a waist-high table. Sitting on the table was an alarm clock, and a single sheet of paper. Goren grabbed the paper, read it through quickly, and then almost literally dove at the clock, fumbling with it for a moment before finally managing to turn it off.

Eames took the paper from him, and read it aloud.

"The alarm clock was set for fifteen minutes from the moment our last call ended. If you do not arrive in time to stop it from ringing, the result will be an arrow straight through Captain Deakin's heart."

She looked up at Goren, knowing his white face reflected her own. He nodded to the timer. There had been less than a minute left when he switched it off. Shuddering, Eames continued to read.

"Please leave your guns on the table, and proceed to the next room. Detective Goren, that includes your cane."

Another exchange of looks, and Goren and Eames removed their guns and placed them carefully on the table.

"Never thought I'd be sorry to leave this damned thing behind," Goren muttered ruefully as he laid the walking stick across the table. Eames moved to the door.

"Let's keep moving."

She pushed it open before either Goren or Jack could object, and stepped through. The two men followed in grim silence.

* * *

They found themselves now in another long hallway, but unlike the previous one, there was only one other door they could go through, and it was at the other end of the passage. Eames paused before going on.

"I keep expecting one of us to disappear through a fake wall, or something."

Jack grimaced. "A regular funhouse."

"More like a house of horrors," Goren added. He reached out and took Eames' hand firmly in his own, less for comfort's sake than to simply keep from being separated.

They walked along the hallway, to the door at the other end, and this time Jack stepped forward and led the way through.

The door opened at the top of a short flight of concrete steps. Jack led the way down, moving cautiously in the dim light.

"Some sort of basement," Eames murmured as she helped Goren negotiate the steps. Jack halted at the bottom, looking around the wide area critically.

"Well, obviously Graham wanted us to come down here… But where to from here?"

"Over there," Goren said suddenly, pointing to a door on the far side of the basement.

"I really don't like this," Jack muttered, and led the way across the floor. He pushed the door open to reveal yet another passageway. Unlike the others, though, this one was cut into the earth itself, and was long enough that they could not see the other end.

"This leads away from the house," Goren murmured, trying to work out just which direction the tunnel went in. "South… I think…"

Jack looked back at Goren grimly.

"That would mean it leads into Denton Woods. Are you still certain that you want to go on?"

"What choice do we have now?" Eames said softly. "If we don't, he'll kill the captain."

"If we do, he'll probably kill all of us," Jack pointed out. Goren moved forward decisively.

"C'mon. Let's keep going."

* * *

The two things that they all noticed acutely was, firstly, the lack of light in the tunnel. As they got further away from the basement, the light faded gradually until they were walking in almost total darkness, and had to feel their way along the damp dirt walls, moving with extra care to prevent stumbling.

Secondly, as they walked the air grew icy around them.

"We not just moving away from the house," Eames said finally. "We're going down. This tunnel is sloping down."

"Those five victims," Goren said softly. "They weren't hunted like Erik Mathers hunted us. They were brought here, and they were killed here. Then they were dumped in the woods to make it look like they'd been chased. We were played. Right from the start, he played us."

"He's holding the captain to get to us," Eames said softly. "Maybe he _doesn't_ know Deakins was the one who…"

She trailed off, leaving it unspoken. Goren didn't answer. He didn't need to. She knew without him saying so that he didn't believe that.

"A door," Jack said suddenly. Sure enough, they had come to a heavy-looking wooden door. The three looked at each other in the dark. They had two choices, either go on, or go back. They all knew damned well there was no going back.

Gritting his teeth, Jack turned the knob and went in.

Eames and Goren had not even made it through the door when they heard Jack suck in his breath sharply.

"Graham… Bloody hell…"

Goren and Eames both looked anxiously as they came through behind Jack, and found themselves confronted with a frightening sight.

Sitting blindfolded and tied to a chair in the middle of the floor was Deakins. He appeared to be unhurt, except for the head wound where Graham had clubbed him with the cricket bat. Standing directly behind him, though, with a loaded crossbow at the ready and aimed squarely at the back of Deakins' head, was David Graham.

"I'm glad you all decided to come," Graham said with a piranha-like smile. "Although, probably not as glad as your captain here."

Both Goren and Eames reacted instantly, each pulling guns that they'd had concealed inside their jackets out and aiming them at Graham.

"Put the crossbow down," Goren ordered, ignoring the stunned look from Jack. Graham, however, only laughed.

"You know, Detectives, if I hadn't anticipated that you'd pull a stunt like this, your captain would have had an arrow buried in his brain by now."

"Damn it, Graham, let him go!" Eames burst out. Again, Graham only laughed.

"Go ahead and shoot me, Detectives. But I must warn you first, this crossbow has a hair-trigger. The slightest jolt _will_ set it off. So you might be able to kill me now, and save your own lives… But I promise that your captain here will most certainly die. Now, your other option is to remove the ammunition clips from those guns and toss them over here. Do that now, and there is a chance that your captain might just walk out of here alive, with Inspector Frost over there. Your choice. I suggest you decide quickly."

"Goren, Eames, don't you dare!" Deakins suddenly burst out. "Forget about me. Just take this son of a bitch out!"

The detectives exchanged looks. They knew what they should do, but neither could bring themselves to sacrifice Deakins' life in order to take Graham down. Slowly, reluctantly, they removed the clips from their guns, and tossed the weapons aside. Graham smiled with satisfaction.

"Very good, Detectives. Please note, that little stunt was the only one I've made an allowance for. Should anything else happen, contrary to the instructions you've received, the captain here _will_ die. Now, Detective Eames, please remove your arm brace. And Detective Goren, please take off your leg brace."

Sparing each other a brief, worried glance, Eames slipped her jacket off and removed the protective brace, while Goren unclipped the calliper that supported his healing leg. Graham nodded approvingly.

"Good. Toss them aside, please… Thankyou. Now, Detective Goren, if you look on the floor behind you, you'll notice some lengths of rope. Please pick up two of them, and tie up your partner and the good Inspector."

"Damn it, Goren, don't!" Deakins growled. Graham laughed softly and prodded Deakins hard between the shoulders with the crossbow, drawing a hiss of pain from the captain.

"I suggest you show a little gratitude for the loyalty your detectives are showing you by keeping your mouth shut. The ropes, Detective Goren. Now. And don't try to be clever. Tie them up properly."

Clenching his jaw tightly in an effort to contain his anger, Goren did as ordered, binding both Eames' and Jack's hands behind their backs. Graham nodded, satisfied. He motioned to Eames and Jack.

"Sit down, both of you."

Helpless to argue, they sat down awkwardly on the floor. Only then did Graham finally lower his crossbow and move away from behind Deakins. He approached Goren slowly, a cruel glint in his eyes.

"Now, being the hero that you are, Detective Goren, I don't doubt that you'll put up a fight the instant I put this crossbow down to tie you up. So, what to do about you…? Oh, that's right. This."

And he fired the loaded arrow straight through Goren's right shoulder.

* * *

_CID_

Superintendent Mullett strode up the stairs of the CID, anxious to find Jack and the two American detectives so he could update them on the progress they'd made, and find out whether they themselves had managed to learn anything new. He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and headed towards the task room, barely aware of his own heavy breathing as he hurried along.

He almost ran into the task room, only to be brought up short. The room was empty.

Mullett looked around in confusion, wondering where they could possibly have gone, and then he remembered. Detective Goren was scheduled for a physio session this evening. Jack must have taken him for that, and of course, Detective Eames would have gone as well. Except… Mullett was sure that Jim Deakins had said something earlier that morning, before leaving CID with George, that that appointment had been moved forward to one o'clock…

So where were they?

There was movement behind him, and he swung around to find DS Hazel Wallace standing there.

"Ah, Hazel. Do you know where Jack is?"

"Actually, sir, that's what I'm come to get you about."

Mullett felt an inexplicable rush of panic sweep through him.

"What is it?"

"You'd better come see for yourself, sir."

* * *

Hazel led him through to the Watch Room, where the monitors were situated that were connected to all the security cameras in the building. A technician was there, waiting for them.

"All right, what's this about?" Mullett asked with a growing hint of impatience. The technician pointed to a TV screen that was separate from the other monitors.

"Here, sir. This was recorded approximately forty-five minutes ago, in the task room."

Mullett leaned in close to watch. There was Jack, and with him were Goren and Eames. They appeared to be quite animated about something that Jack passed to Goren. He appeared to be getting out his phone but then, instead of making a call, he answered one instead.

"Damn it, we need sound on these things," Mullett growled. The tech exchanged a wry look with Hazel, neither one daring to mention the fact that a request had been submitted for audio equipment to accompany the security monitors, and Mullett himself had knocked it back on the grounds of budget constraints.

The call ended, and they watched as Jack spoke to the two detectives, and then all three of them hurried out of the room.

"I spotted them on four other cameras after they left the task room," the technician explained. "They left the building, and took off in Inspector Frost's car. Seemed in quite a hurry, too, I might add. I tried to reach you, sir, to let you know, but I couldn't get through. In the end, I told Hazel, and we've been waiting since then for you to get back."

"Come with me, Hazel," Mullett said firmly. "We need to try and work out just what it was they'd discovered before they left." He looked around at the technician. "I want to know who it was that phoned DI Frost before they left and, if possible, where the call originated from."

The technician nodded.

"Right on it, sir. I'll call the phone company right away."

* * *

They arrived back at the task room, and for the first time realised just what a state the room was in from all the paper that was strewn over the desks.

"Looks like Jack's office," Mullett muttered as he looked around. He paused, then indicated the desk on the other side of the room. "You start over there. I'm afraid I can't give you much of an idea of what we might be looking for, though."

"It's okay," Hazel murmured. She walked over and started looking through pages. "Do you think that maybe that phone call was a tip-off about where David Graham might be?"

Mullett frowned a little. "Jack may like to do things his own way, but if it was just a tip-off, I don't think he would have gone off with just Detectives Goren and Eames, and not organised any type of back up. No… If that phone call was something to do with Professor Graham, I'll wager it was more than a mere tip-off."

Hazel quickly caught his meaning.

"You mean it could have been Graham himself calling Jack?"

"Quite possibly, and if that was the case, I expect they were given strict instructions to follow in order to keep Captain Deakins from being killed."

Shaken, Hazel returned her attention to the desk, searching the many documents and pages of notes with renewed urgency. Then, abruptly, her eyes alighted on a single sheet of paper that sat on the other end of the desk. A single piece of paper with a big red circle scrawled around something at the bottom…

"I think this is what they were looking at, sir," she said quickly, snatching the page off the desk.

Hazel held a sheet of paper out to Mullett, and he scanned it quickly.

"This is the property that borders Denton Woods, out on the east side."

Hazel nodded. "That's right, sir. Local kids reckon it's haunted, all that sort of rot. But look at what's been circled at the bottom, next to ownership."

Mullett looked, and sucked in his breath loudly in shock.

"Good god… Hazel, get on the radio to Harding, and give him this address. I want everything directed to this address immediately… But no one is to move within a hundred metres of the property border until I give the order. Go…"

Hazel ran to do as she'd been ordered.

* * *

Graham strode over to Goren, who had collapsed to the floor in agony, clutching desperately at the arrow shaft protruding from his right shoulder. Lifting high the now empty crossbow, Graham brought it down hard, smashing it against Goren's right leg, forcing a horrible scream of pain from the detective as the limb broke easily under the cruel force of the blow.

"You bastard!" Eames choked out, tears filling her eyes at her partner's pain. "That could cripple him!"

Graham gave a short, vicious laugh as he picked the last length of rope and wrenched Goren's hands behind his back, tying him up tightly.

"I wouldn't be too worried about that, Detective Eames."

He stepped away, leaving Goren lying on the floor on his left side, and walked over and yanked the blindfold roughly from Deakins' face.

"There, Captain. Now you can see the precious detectives that you murdered my son to save."

Deakins felt an ice cold wave sweep down through his body. Graham laughed, seeing the look on his face.

"Of course I know. I knew all along who the bastard was that murdered my boy. I just didn't realise you were here in Denton until you showed up at my door this morning. So now, I not only get the honour of finishing my son's work, but I get to deal with the person who finished _him_. Tell me, Captain Deakins. What did it feel like, pulling the trigger and killing a young man not even in his prime?"

Deakins glared up at Graham.

"I've never felt more satisfied in my life as I did when I shot dead your son, you sick son of a bitch."

Deakins' head rocked violently to the side as Graham backhanded him hard across the face.

"Satisfied, eh?" Graham hissed, leaning in close to stare right into Deakins' eyes. "Well, I imagine I'll probably feel much the same when I put the lights out permanently for Goren and Eames over there. The only issue I have is, do I kill you too, or do I let you live? I want to kill you, Captain Deakins, almost more than I want to kill _them_. But I wouldn't mind letting you live, either, knowing you had to suffer the guilt every day for the rest of your life, after watching your precious detectives die one by one, and knowing you were powerless to stop it from happening."

"So when did you really find out that Erik Mathers was your son?" Jack asked. Graham looked around at Jack, his attention momentarily diverted from Deakins.

"I've always known. I was the one who organised for Erik to come here for twelve months."

"And did you organise for him to meet Amon Bohen too? Or was that an accident?"

"That was no accident," Graham said derisively. "I knew my son had potential, it was just a matter of getting the right person to exploit it. Amon was the right person."

Eames stared at Graham with a mixture of shock and disgust.

"You planned it? You planned _everything_? Why?"

Graham smiled openly, then.

"Human nature is a wonderfully adaptive thing, Detective. It's truly fascinating, to see how people learn to adapt to different situations. We see it every day, all around us… But to see it in terms of a raw, basic need for survival… That was something Amon and I dreamed of studying."

"So Bohen was involved," Jack said, and Graham nodded.

"Oh, yes, right from the start. He didn't have the stomach for the kill himself, you understand, but he was fascinated with the theory of it all. And he had just the right touch to turn my son into a true master hunter. In fact," Graham said, looking to Goren and Eames, "the only mistake Erik made was when he took you two. When he called to tell me he'd picked his final two victims, Amon and I were ecstatic… until he told us _who_ he'd picked." Graham shook his head. "I warned him against taking police officers, but he was determined. Not even Amon could talk him out of that. Still, the reports I got back from him in those last few days were quite spectacular."

"Why did you kill Bohen?" Goren asked, his voice hoarse from the strain of fighting the extraordinary pain he was in.

"He called me in a panic after you had him in for interrogation early this morning. Ranted that you were onto him, and that he wasn't going to take the blame alone… All that sort of rubbish. I wasn't particularly concerned about him exposing me… I'd counted on you figuring it out sooner or later. Really, it was just to shut him up. His whinging really got quite severely on my nerves."

"You're insane," Jack growled. Graham nodded amiably.

"Quite possibly, yes. And I know I'm quite possibly not going to walk out of this house alive, but I swore I would finish my son's work before I joined him." He rounded on Goren and Eames, his eyes glinting dully in the dim light of the basement. "I have to leave you alone now for a short while. I need to collect a couple of things, but I tell you what I'll do. I'll let the two of you decide who dies first. Entirely your choice, I promise."

Then, laughing cruelly to himself, Graham hurried through the heavy wooden door. There was the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock, telling them they were locked in.

* * *


	11. Escalation

_A/N _: Wow… Can't believe this one has come so far. LOL That three weeks away certainly helped – plenty of time to think about and work through the plot. I can't honestly say I know how much more of this there is to go in terms of chapters, but I feel satisfied with what has eventuated. Hope everyone who has been following the story feels the same way.

_To Shellster_: LMAO! Pull it out with her teeth! I like that… Seriously, though, you don't really think Goren and Eames would go into a situation like that without a backup plan, do you…?

* * *

"Do I need to say it?" Deakins asked once Graham had gone. Goren groaned faintly from where he lay on the floor.

"Please don't."

Eames glowered up at Deakins, though there was no real rancour in her expression.

"What were we supposed to do, Captain? Let him kill you? You know we couldn't let that happen… no matter what he threatened."

Deakins sighed a little. He wanted to argue, but he couldn't. He suspected that, had their roles been reversed, he probably would have done exactly the same thing.

"Bobby?" he asked quietly, looking across at Goren. "How bad is it?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then Goren answered, his voice barely audible.

"It's broken again," he whispered shakily. "Don't… Don't know how bad it is."

Deakins shut his eyes, and had to fight an urge to groan. Dr Evans had warned them all in no uncertain terms that the risk of permanent damage was high if Goren were to sustain any other serious injuries to that leg, and the bottom line was that if Goren were to be left crippled, it would effectively end his career as a cop. That was, assuming they got out of this situation alive.

"Alex…? What on earth are you doing?"

Deakins opened his eyes at Jack's startled question. Where she sat on the floor, Eames was wriggling furiously, grunting with the effort of whatever it was she was trying to do. She didn't answer Jack, not immediately, but Goren did.

"You… You don't think we'd walk… into a… a situation like this and give… give ourselves up without a… a backup plan?"

"Don't talk," Eames ordered him breathlessly. "Save your strength."

A moment later, she gasped in pain as she finally succeeded in wriggling free of her bindings. Giving her wrists a quick rub, she then reached down and rolled up the left leg of her pants, revealing a sheathed knife that was strapped to her calf.

"Alex, how…?" Deakins asked tentatively as she sliced quickly through the ropes that bound Goren's wrists, and then Jack's. She was then behind him, cutting him free as well. She spoke in a low, urgent voice as she freed him.

"After you disappeared earlier this afternoon, Mullett asked Jack to take us back to CID to go through our notes to see if we could find any clue about where Graham might have taken you. We asked Jack to stop at his place on the way there so we could grab some notes that we'd left there."

"Except, it wasn't notes you collected, was it?" Jack asked. Eames shook her head as she hurried back to Goren's side after freeing Deakins.

"We thought something like this might happen. We'd talked about it before we even left the US," she explained. "So we planned ahead. It's not quite how we thought it would happen, but when we realised what had happened to you, we knew Graham was going to try and use you to trap us as well. So we decided to be ready."

Deakins walked over to the side of the room, and picked up Goren's gun and ammunition clip.

"He's not the brightest criminal we've ever dealt with. Anyone with half a brain would have taken these with them."

"Captain, could you grab Bobby's leg brace?" Eames asked. Deakins complied, and took the brace over to Eames, who fitted it carefully back on to Goren's leg. The detective cried out through clenched teeth at the immense pain.

"Sorry," Eames whispered, fighting back tears of her own. Deakins reached over, then, gently catching hold of her left wrist. The flesh was rubbed raw to the point of abrasion where she'd twisted her way out of the ropes that had bound her. She took her hand back from him.

"It's okay. Just something else we'd planned for. We've both had plenty of practise getting out of a lot of different types of binds."

Deakins blinked, astonished. "You… You tied each other up to practise getting loose?"

"Not just for that," Eames murmured as she examined the arrow embedded in her partner's shoulder. "We did it so we wouldn't freeze up if it ever happened again."

"You two never cease to amaze me," Deakins murmured.

"Sorry to interrupt, but what are we going to do about that?" Jack asked, indicating the arrow.

"It has to come out," Eames said firmly. "Help me… We have to get him sitting up."

Between Jack and Deakins, they managed to help Goren to sit up, giving them a clear view of the injury.

"Is it…?" Goren started to ask, only to trail off, his breath escaping him in a soft whistle.

"It's gone through the other side," Eames confirmed. "I'm going to have to push it from this side, though. It looks like it's gone through the bone."

"Alex, you don't have to," Deakins told her quietly. "I'll do it."

She regarded him grimly. "It's okay, sir, _I'll_ do it. I've… I've done it before." She looked back to Goren, not giving Deakins a chance to question her further. "Bobby, you know how badly this is going to hurt, but you have to stay awake. Do you think you can do that?"

He looked up at her, his brown eyes filled with a kind of pain that both detectives had hoped and prayed they would never again experience.

"Just do it," he whispered.

Eames never hesitated, and didn't give so much as a warning to any of them. She almost lunged forward, pushing her full weight against the arrow shaft. Goren went rigid, a strangled scream tearing from his lips as the arrow slid through his shoulder. Deakins grasped it as Eames pushed, and pulled it all the way through and out the other side, pressing his hand hard against the wound while Eames compressed it from the other side with a handkerchief she'd pulled from Goren's jacket pocket.

"It'll be okay," Goren whispered after a minute of struggling to regain his composure. Jack winced.

"I'm not sure I'd like to know what you think _isn't_ okay."

Goren sucked in a long, hissing breath.

"Graham didn't want to kill me with that shot… Just immobilise me."

"He's right," Deakins agreed when Jack still looked sceptical. "It's a clean through and through… as long as we can get medical attention for him fairly soon, it's not a serious wound. He's got more to be worried about with his leg."

"Jack, here," Eames murmured, directing Jack to hold the handkerchief in place. "Hold this here… Press hard, that's it."

While Jack held the compress, Eames hurried over and collected her own gun.

"He's got something planned," Goren whispered, struggling to keep his thoughts lucid. "Some sort of showdown. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left the guns there. He's insane, not stupid."

"Regardless of whether that's true," Jack said, "I think it's safe to say we have the advantage now. I mean, guns against bows and arrows…?"

"In a trick house that we aren't familiar," Goren added breathlessly. "Even if Graham didn't want us to free ourselves, he'll have devised a backup plan."

"I suppose we could always stay here, wait for him to come back, and shoot him then," Eames suggested without much hope. Deakins looked grim.

"This might be a clean wound, but he could still bleed out. We have to get out of here as quickly as possible, Alex."

"I think there's only one way we can do this," Jack suggested. "I'll help Bobby, and the two of you keep a lookout with the guns."

Deakins nodded his agreement, and then looked at Eames.

"Is that all right by you, Alex?"

Eames looked reluctant, thinking of the long dark tunnel leading back to the house.

"The phrase 'sitting duck' comes to mind. We have no way of knowing whether Graham is just sitting at the other end of that tunnel, waiting for us to come back out."

Deakins sighed.

"We have two choices. We go, or we stay. We'd have the tactical advantage if we stay, but Bobby needs medical attention now. If we go, we run the risk that Graham will be ready for that, and we have to hope that one of us will get a shot off before he can."

"There might be another choice."

Deakins and Eames looked questioningly at Jack. He looked back at them intently.

"Do any of you feel that?"

"Feel what…?" Deakins wondered, but Eames realised quickly what Jack was talking about.

"A breeze… Where's it coming from?"

She and Jack began searching the dark room in earnest, knocking on the wooden walls, looking for any sign of a hidden door. Jack soon found what they were looking for when he banged on one section of wall, the action causing a hollow sound. Frowning, Jack leaned his weight against the panel, and there was a loud click in response and the wall pushed open to reveal wooden steps leading upwards.

"I don't believe this," Deakins muttered as he looked from where he still knelt beside Goren. "I feel like I'm trapped in a carnival house of horrors."

"Not trapped anymore," Eames said as she looked up the flight of steps. "There's light up there."

Jack hurried over, and between him and Deakins they managed to get Goren to his feet.

"All right," Jack said grimly. "Let's get out of the funhouse."

* * *

They reached the top of the steps and passed through a narrow tunnel into a small, open cave. From there, they emerged into dimming daylight in the middle of what appeared to be some sort of forest, Deakins and Jack on either side of Goren to help support him.

"Denton Woods," Jack said as they paused to look around. "We've come out into Denton Woods."

"Do you know where in the woods we are?" Deakins asked. Jack frowned a little.

"I'm afraid not. I'm not all that familiar with the territory."

Goren lifted his left arm a little, and pointed behind them.

"Graham's house is that way. North."

"Are you saying we should go back towards him?" Deakins asked incredulously. Goren shook his head and pointed in a different direction.

"No… We need to head… west… That way… Back towards Denton."

"Graham's house was about five miles out," Jack said. "I'd say we have at least that distance to walk, if not further." He looked at Goren critically. "Can you make it that far? Because I could try to get to my car..."

Goren shook his head.

"Can't go back to the house… And we can't split up..."

"Bobby's right," Eames said grimly. "We have to stay together."

"Well," Deakins mused as they started back in the direction of the town, "there's always the chance that Graham _was_ waiting for us to get loose, and head back to the house. With any luck, by the time he works out where we've gone to, we'll have a good head start on him."

"Was it anything like this when Erik Mathers was after you?" Jack asked ruefully. Eames favoured him with a haunted stare.

"No. Not yet, anyway."

* * *

David Graham hurried down the stairs, back through the house towards the hallway that led to the basement. In one hand he held a quiver full of long, thick-shafted arrows, and in the other he clasped an exquisitely-made long bow, similar to the one which hung in his office at the university. It was with this particular bow that he had permanently silenced Amon Bohen, and it was with this bow that he planned to finish the job that his youngest son had started nearly six months ago with Detective Robert Goren and Detective Alexandra Eames.

He hadn't quite decided yet whether he would let James Deakins live or not, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of burying one his arrows deep in Deakins' skull. He knew he had to decide fast, but whatever he chose, he desperately wanted it to be a decision that he wouldn't regret later on if, in fact, he himself survived.

With Goren and Eames, it was purely business. But with Deakins, it was personal.

A cruel smile lit up his face. He could always let him live, but as a cripple… An arrow to the right spot, and the man would never walk again.

Graham felt a surge of excitement through his body, almost powerful enough to cause an erection. _That_ was what he was going to do to the bastard cop that had murdered his son. He'd cripple him, and then force him to watch while he killed Eames, and then Goren, in that specific order. Let Deakins live out his days as a cripple who, in the end, was helpless to stop his precious detectives from being brutally killed…

And brutal it would be. Graham planned on re-enacting each and every one of the detectives' wounds that had been inflicted on them by Erik, from arrow wounds to broken bones, and then he would impale Detective Eames on an arrow, and watch the life drain from her pretty brown eyes. Then, when she was dead – there would be no mistake about that this time – when she was dead, he would take huge pleasure in breaking every bone in Detective Goren's body that he possibly could. And then, he would do what his son had told him he was planning to do – he would put an arrow through Detective Goren's skull, piercing the flesh through that soft, vulnerable spot at the base of the skull and the top of the spine, driving the arrow up through the brain…

Graham froze as he reached the door that led back down into the main basement. The guns… He forgot to take their guns…

Heart pounding, Graham slung the quiver over his shoulder and fitted an arrow into the long bow, ready to use. He then hurried down into the basement, cursing himself angrily for forgetting such a vital thing.

The basement was empty, and apparently undisturbed, so they had not come through there yet, assuming they'd even been able to get themselves free at all…

Graham entered the dark tunnel on the other side of the basement and advanced slowly along, the adrenalin pumping through his body. In theory, they should all be right where he left them. In theory, he should be able to walk in, and immediately begin to carry out the last stage of his plan.

But theories rarely translated perfectly into reality, and there was no way of pre-empting what the two American detectives might have planned for. Sure, he'd guessed that they would disregard his demand to leave their guns behind, but he had also been right to rely on Goren and Eames' devotion to their captain in order to neutralise them.

He should have checked, though, to make sure that Goren had, indeed, tied up Frost and Eames properly, and not just assumed that he had. Another mistake, Graham cursed himself angrily. He was sure the shudder of pain across Detective Eames' face when Goren had tied her up had been real, but that could simply have been from having to hold her injured arm behind her back. For all he knew, Goren had not tied her up at all.

A small smile found its way onto his lips, despite the uncertainty of what he would find. The look of sheer agony on Detective Goren's face when he'd shot him with that arrow had been truly beautiful. And his scream of pain when his leg was broken anew had literally been music to Graham's ears.

Perhaps, even before he dealt with Deakins, he would break Detective Goren's other leg, just for the hell of it. Yes, he knew the good detective had suffered originally two broken legs, apparently the result of an accident rather than courtesy of his son, but what did that matter?

Graham paused as he came to the door. Yes, he was going to smash up Detective Goren's legs so badly that he would never walk again. He laughed softly. Just like his precious captain. The only difference would be that Deakins was going to live to suffer. Goren was not.

He unlocked the door, and kicked it open hard.

Graham froze just inside the door, his mouth going slack from shock and dismay. Not only were his captives no longer tied up, they were not even in the room any longer.

He looked around in growing panic, trying to work out whether they had backtracked to the house and he had missed them, or whether they had taken the tunnel that led out into Denton Woods. He was fairly sure that had not found their way back into the house, so that left just one option.

He walked over and pushed open the hidden door. Sure enough, there on the dirt floor were fresh footprints.

A smirk formed on Graham's lips. He had no way of knowing exactly how far ahead of him they were… Perhaps fifteen minutes at the absolute most. But with Detective Goren's broken leg they weren't going to be moving very fast, and he doubted that he'd have little difficulty catching up with them.

His grin widened as he ascended the steps. If they'd stayed in the room, they would have had the advantage, but in venturing out into the woods… Well, even though they had guns, he now had the advantage of stealth, and a weapon capable of firing with lethal accuracy over long distances. He would be able to take one of them down before they even knew he was there.

Graham emerged out of the cave, and quickly picked up the trail. Still grinning, he hurried after his prey.

* * *

Mullett arrived to find what appeared to be the entire Denton PD camped out around the perimeter of David Graham's house. With some effort he concealed his surprise, and allowed himself to be directed to the superior officer in charge, Detective Chief Inspector Peters.

"We've had the chopper do a couple of fly-overs," he informed Mullett quickly. "No sign of movement inside at all. Unfortunately, we don't have heat-seeking technology to be able to determine just how many people are inside, or where."

Mullet peered at the house, his heart pounding in his throat, feeling the weight of responsibility bearing down on him in a way that he had not experienced for years. If he made the wrong decisions now, it was entirely possible that four police officers would die, and that was an unacceptable outcome to him.

"We are working on the belief that David Graham has four hostages," Mullett told him.

Peters did a double-take. That was news to him.

"We were told he had one possible hostage, no identity provided. Who…?"

"DI Frost, and Captain James Deakins and Detectives Robert Goren and Alex Eames from New York."

"The Americans that have been here helping DI Frost? Bloody hell, how did that happen?"

Mullett shook his head.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that question just yet."

"All right, then. What's the order, sir?"

Mullet paused, contemplating various options in silence while staring at the bleak façade of the house. Finally, when he spoke it was in a low but firm voice.

"Move in. Now."

* * *

"Do you hear that?" Deakins asked, pausing for just a moment to look up. "A chopper… Sounds close."

"_Now_ I'm getting dejavu," Eames muttered, looking around intently, gun held in a rock-steady grip.

"It's good news," Jack muttered. "Means they're searching for us. Luckily for us, looks as though Mullett was on the ball for once."

"Let's save the gratitude for when we're safe," Deakins said. "Bobby? How are you doing, there?"

The detective's face was the colour of dirty snow from the loss of blood that he'd suffered, and he struggled to stay upright for the pain that his broken leg was causing him, but there was a familiar determination in his eyes as they made their way forward.

"I'm okay," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Watch for Graham. Once he knows we're… gone… Won't take him long to… to catch us up…"

Deakins looked around grimly.

"All we need is one clear shot…"

"And it's getting dark fast," Eames reminded him. "Once it does, he'll have the advantage again."

"Let's just keep moving," Deakins murmured.

* * *

Mullett strode through the house, led by DCI Peters. The strike team had descended on the house on command, rapidly spreading through the property, searching for any sign of Graham or his hostages. So far, they had found no one.

"DI Frost's car was found in the garage," Peters explained as he led Mullett down a long hallway. "We found two guns in a room at the end of an adjoining hallway."

"Belonging, I assume, to Detectives Goren and Eames?"

"I imagine so, sir. DI Frost doesn't carry a weapon, does he?"

_No, he prefers to wield baseball bats_…

Mullett shook the thought from his head.

"No, he doesn't."

"Well, you might be interested to know that neither gun was loaded. Perhaps the suspect removed the clips, but I don't think so. I'd hazard a guess that somehow the Americans foresaw a situation like this, and tried to be prepared for it."

They came to an open doorway to descending steps.

"There's a basement down there," Peters explained. "Another tunnel leads to a new room, one that isn't on the property plans. We, uh… We found evidence that someone had been held in there fairly recently. There are ropes and blood… some dried and some fresh."

"Lead the way," Mullett said grimly. "Let's see."

* * *

"Oh, dear god," Mullett muttered as he looked around at the small room in sick dismay.

"It's a killing room," Peters said softly. Mullett looked around slowly, wondering if, indeed, Jack and the three Americans had been trapped inside this room recently. And if that were the case, then where were they now?

"Superintendent?"

Mullett looked to see Peters holding up an item that looked strangely familiar.

"It's some sort of brace," Peters said, frowning.

"It's an arm brace," Mullett confirmed. "To be specific, it's Detective Eames' arm brace. They were in here, which means that fresh blood belongs either to DI Frost or to one of our American counterparts. We need to work out where David Graham might have taken them, and how long ago."

"Sir, I'm guessing not that long ago," Hazel Wallace spoke up for the first time where she stood by the far wall, staring intently at the dirt floor. "And it might be that Graham didn't take them anywhere himself. Come and take a look, sir."

Mullet and Peters strode over to see what she was talking about. A moment later, they found themselves staring at a distinct footprint… Or rather, half a footprint. They could clearly make out the heel print of a shoe, but the other half was missing, cut off cleanly by the wooden wall.

Not quite sure what he expected to happen, Mullett leaned forward and pushed against the wall. It swung open with a distinct click, revealing the steps that Graham had followed his prey up not ten minutes before.

"This must lead up into Denton Woods," Hazel said, sounding more than a little stunned. Mullett looked around at the DCI sharply, at the same time drawing his gun from where he'd holstered it at his side before leaving CID to go out to Graham's house.

"Summon all teams, and reroute them to Denton Woods. Hurry, go! Wallace, come with me."

He all but ran up the steps, with DS Wallace right behind him.

* * *

They were joined in the woods by a team of officers who had followed them up the steps from the hidden underground room.

"Right," Mullett said quickly. "This way…"

He trailed off as the sound of gunshots echoed through the otherwise quiet woods; two shots, each fired within rapid succession of each other.

"Sir…?" Hazel asked hoarsely.

"This way," Mullett repeated, fighting to keep his own voice steady. "Move!"

* * *

It was no surprise to Eames when Goren's strength finally gave out and he collapsed to the ground, very nearly taking Jack with him.

"Bobby…?" Deakins asked anxiously, crouching beside the detective. "You need to get up, Bobby. C'mon, pal, don't quit on us now…"

"He can't go any further," Eames said, coming quickly to her partner's defence.

"He has to, Alex," Deakins said tightly. "We aren't leaving him here."

"So leave me with him," Eames snapped. "You and Jack go on and find help, and come back for us."

"That's not an option," Jack said firmly. "We aren't leaving either of you behind, not for any reason."

"C'mon," Deakins muttered again, slipping the gun into his pocket and taking careful hold of Goren's right arm. "We have to get you up. Help me, Jack…"

Jack moved in and took hold of Goren's left arm, with the intention of helping to lift the big detective back onto his feet.

Eames almost sensed it before any of them heard it. A sudden, almost deathly silence was followed rapidly by an all-too-familiar, bone-chilling whistle that cut through the quiet like a knife through butter.

There was a hideous, soft thudding sound, and then silence. Eames looked up slowly from where she'd instinctively thrown herself to the ground, across Goren's heaving chest. Jack looked up wildly from where he, too, had thrown himself down.

"Oh god… no…"

The exclamation came from Eames. Jack looked around in momentary confusion that was followed by a horrified realisation. Deakins lay on the ground on his side next to Goren, an arrow spearing him through his back and stomach. He clutched helplessly at the point that protruded through his stomach, his face contorted in pain. Even as they watched, blood trickled from the corner of Deakins' mouth.

"No…" Eames whispered, scrambling around to the captain's side in a near panic. "Captain, no…"

"Gun…" Goren muttered as he slowly, painfully pushed himself up into a sitting position beside Deakins inert form. "Alex… Give me my gun…"

Even as she reached for Deakins' pocket, though, another arrow screamed through the air, not impaling Eames but rather grazing her upper right arm, slicing the flesh wide open. Eames cried out in pain, dropping her own gun as she clapped her free hand over the new wound. Goren started to reach for her weapon, but was stopped by a cold, callous voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Detective Goren. Unless, of course, you _like_ pain."

Goren drew his hand back slowly as David Graham came into sight, long bow at the ready with a new arrow ready to be fired at a split second's notice. Graham nodded approvingly.

"Good, Detective." He paused, looking at the four of them with open amusement. "I can't help but wonder, how much is this like those last moments on that mountain? Detectives? Of course, then it was you who was impaled on an arrow, wasn't it, Detective Eames? And Erik was about to put an arrow through your skull, wasn't he, Detective Goren? Well, I'm afraid I don't have the time now to do as I would have liked, but still, I think I can guarantee a moderately satisfying experience. Well… for _me_, anyway."

He raised the bow and arrow slightly, and brought it around to aim at Deakins.

"I was going to let you live, Captain Deakins, but…"

In the next instant, several things happened at once. Goren, who had managed to pull his left leg underneath him, suddenly launched himself forward and collided his full body weight with Graham. The force of the impact caused Graham to release his arrow, sending it harmlessly away into the air.

At the same moment, Jack threw himself across to shield Deakins, while Eames snatched up her gun in her left hand, swung it around and fired twice at Graham.

Whether she hit her target, they didn't know. The shock of Goren's collision with Graham drew a loud gasp from one, and a half-stifled cry of pain from the other, and sent both of them tumbling out of sight down a slight incline.

Eames sat frozen for a long moment, before looking around at Jack.

"Are you okay? Jack…?"

He pushed himself up slowly, his face the colour of ash.

"Still intact… I think. Where… Where'd they go?"

Eames nodded her head towards the incline. "Over there…"

"Stay with him," Jack told her firmly. She held her gun out to him, but he shook his head in decline, then pointed a short distance away. Eames looked, and immediately saw what he was indicating. Graham's longbow and arrowslay on the ground where Graham had droppedthem when Goren collided with him.

"Be careful," Eames warned him as Jack scrambled to his feet. "He might still have a weapon."

Jack nodded in compliance and hurried away over the edge of the rise, leaving Eames with Deakins.

* * *

He didn't have to go far. Goren and Graham lay side by side at the bottom of the slope, neither one moving. Jack approached cautiously, hoping Graham was neutralised but not knowing for certain. As he got closer, though, Goren shifted and moaned softly. Abandoning caution out of concern for his colleague, Jack hurried the rest of the way down.

"Bobby… Thank God…"

Goren shuddered, lifting his gaze weakly to his friend. It was all Jack could do not to cringe openly at the other's badly bruised face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"All right, don't talk," Jack murmured. "We'll have help here very soon."

"_Jack!_"

Jack looked up at the familiar, distant voice. That was Mullett's voice… He smiled despite the shock of the situation. Though his earlier comment about Mullett being on the ball for once had been more in jest that anything, it suddenly seemed that he hadn't been wrong. And the realisation that his seemingly incompetent superior officer had actually left the confines of his own office to oversee a major police action gave him a sense of relief the likes of which he didn't have the words to voice.

Reluctantly, Jack turned his attention to Graham. The man wasn't moving, but whether he was unconscious or dead, Jack had no idea. Remembering Eames' warning, Jack leaned over cautiously to check the status of their would-be killer.

Even taking as much care as he could, Jack was unprepared when Graham suddenly rolled over and slashed furiously at him with a previously concealed knife.

Jack felt a fiery pain across his chest but had no time to dwell on how much damage might have been done, as Graham tackled him to the ground.

A loud, breathless grunt escaped Jack as Graham landed on top of him. The knife came down and Jack cried out as it found a target in his left shoulder. Graham yanked the blade out and drove it downwards again, but this time Jack got his hands up in time, catching hold of Graham's wrists and stopping the knife's descent.

For seconds that seemed to stretch into hours, the two men struggled. Graham's strength was fuelled by rage and adrenalin, and Jack was now wounded in the shoulder. Slowly but surely, Jack felt himself losing the fight for control, and could only watch helplessly as the blade got closer by the second.

Graham suddenly grunted in surprise as he was abruptly hauled backwards, off Jack. The Inspector looked around dazedly, expecting to see one of Denton's finest there, subduing the killer. Except, it was not a Denton cop that had pulled Graham off him.

Jack looked on in a daze, his mind taking a good second or two to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. Goren had somehow, broken leg and all, pulled himself far enough off the ground to drag Graham backward, away from Jack. Blood was pouring down the side of Goren's face from a new wound where Graham had slashed at him with the knife, and now the two were caught up in a ferocious struggle for that same knife.

It was a struggle that, with the wounds he had suffered, Goren couldn't possibly win.

Looking around for anything he could use, Jack's gaze fell on a thick branch that lay loose on the ground nearby. Getting awkwardly to his feet, Jack grabbed the branch and with just a moment's hesitation to take aim, he swung the branch around into Graham's head as hard as he could.

The momentum of the blow knocked Graham clean away from Goren, well and truly putting the killer out of action. Grabbing the knife purely to be safe, Jack then stumbled back to Goren's side.

"Bobby? You still with me, lad?"

A weak smile touched Goren's lips, followed by a tremulous, rasping laugh.

"Haven't been… called that since… since tenth grade calculus…"

Jack smiled a little, only to realise in shock that Goren was bleeding profusely from what appeared to be a bullet wound in his left side.

"You've been shot!"

"I know," Goren whispered, wincing in pain. "Do me a favour, tell Alex… If she's going to start shooting left-handed… she needs more practise."

Jack shook his head in disbelief that Goren was capable of making jokes when he was so badly hurt. A moment later, his ears picked up on the sound of voices getting closer, one of which was the distinct voice of his superintendent. Jack pulled his coat off and draped it carefully over his injured friend, then slumped over where he sat next to Goren, and waited wearily for help to arrive.

* * *


	12. Aftermath

_Approximately 24 hrs later  
__Denton Hospital_

Bobby Goren came back to awareness slowly, with extreme reluctance. For some time now… he had no idea just how long… he'd been hovering somewhere in that painless void between sleep and wakefulness, aware of nothing beyond the quiet that surrounded him.

He had been to this place just once before that he was consciously aware of, and he knew what sort of pain he was likely to be in for when his mind decided it was time to become fully alert. For that reason alone, he was content to stay in the void for just as long as he could.

That wasn't going to be for much longer. Already he could hear a distant, and as yet unidentified voice speaking to him, calling his name, calling him back. He tried not to listen, but gradually the sound permeated his subconscious, compelling him to pay attention.

Slowly, reluctantly, he felt his consciousness shift and the voice became clearer, no long a faint echo inside his mind, but a distinct voice whispering in his ear. Slowly, he felt himself being drawn back into wakefulness, the fog in his mind steadily clearing as he came back to awareness.

And, as was inevitable, so too came the pain.

Driven abruptly back into full awareness by the pain that flared through his leg, and other wounded parts of his body, Bobby Goren finally gave in and opened his eyes.

* * *

"Welcome back."

Bobby blinked dazedly, his foggy mind not fully comprehending the voice, or the words the voice had just spoken. He looked around, and his blurry vision came to rest on the one who stood by his bedside, watching with a mixture of concern and relief that, even in his muzzy state, Bobby couldn't possibly misinterpret.

Alex smiled as his gaze finally focused on her and, when she knew she had his attention, she leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead.

He tried to speak, but his mouth and throat were horribly dry, and all he could manage were a couple of semi-garbled words.

"…lex… Where…?"

She hesitated in answering him, taking a moment instead to pour some water into a glass, and hold it gently to his lips, allowing just a trickle of water into his mouth.

"Thanks," he whispered, grateful.

"In answer to your question," she went on, "we're in Denton Hospital, Bobby. You've been out for nearly twenty-four hours. The doctors were starting to get worried."

He didn't respond to that immediately, instead making a concerted effort to get his fuzzy thoughts into some sort of order.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked, noting the dazed and confused expression on his bruised face. He considered that for a moment before answering.

"Going through the woods… Deakins getting shot with that arrow…" He looked up at her, panic lighting up his eyes. "Deakins…"

"He's going to be okay," she reassured him. "Though, the key phrase there is 'going to be'. The arrow glanced off a vertebra and badly pinched some of the nerves in his spine. It's caused temporary paralysis to his legs. The doctors said that won't last, but it looks like the dear captain is going to be joining us in rehab for a while."

Bobby was still too weak and tired to be able to fully appreciate the irony of that, much to Alex's private disappointment.

"He… He was bleeding from the mouth…"

Alex nodded.

"The arrow also grazed a lung, but it's okay. They caught that in time. The doctors here are wonderful, Bobby. They saved Deakins' life… and yours, too."

Bobby sighed faintly, and he relaxed visibly in the bed. Alex hesitated, then spoke again.

"What else do you remember?"

"Not a lot," he admitted. "It's all pretty… pretty hazy. How's Jack? Is he… okay?"

"He'll be fine," she murmured. "Graham stabbed him in the left shoulder, and got him across the chest with his knife, but there was no real damage done. Just flesh wounds, that's all."

Bobby said nothing, but his gaze flickered noticeably to her right arm, which was heavily bandaged, and her left wrist and forearm, which was encased in plaster. She offered him a crooked smile.

"Nothing serious," she assured him. "I needed thirty-six stitches where Graham's arrow caught me, but there was no nerve damage or anything like that. It's just a really nasty cut, nothing more."

"And that?" he asked, indicating the plaster on her arm which seemed to have temporarily replaced her arm brace.

"I broke a bone in my wrist getting loose from those ropes," she explained. "You just _had_ to tie me up properly, didn't you?"

He went red. "I'm sorry… but if he'd checked, and I hadn't done it properly, he might just have killed us all right then." He paused, the red flush fading from his cheeks as he stared at her intently.

"What?" she asked, starting to feel nervous.

"You… You actually _shot_ me!"

It was Alex's turn to go red.

"It wasn't on purpose! How was I to know you were going to go all heroic and throw yourself at Graham like that? Anyway, it was only a flesh wound."

Bobby grunted.

"And what about the other bullet? You did fire two shots…? Where did it end up? In a tree trunk?"

She glowered at him.

"If you weren't already in pain, I'd hit you. For your information, Robert Goren, I _got_ Graham with that second shot. I _would_ have got him with both shots, except you got your butt in the way."

He smiled wearily.

"Lucky for me you missed my butt. Otherwise it'd be even more uncomfortable lying here that it already is."

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"Smart ass."

The two detectives smiled at each other for a moment. Then, slowly, Bobby's smile faded, and his gaze went to his right leg. It was elevated slightly off the bed courtesy of a sling, and it was all he could do not to cringe at the sight of the three surgical pins inserted into the flesh of his leg.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Alex told him firmly. "Try not to panic, okay?"

"You've talked to the doctor?"

"Yes. He wouldn't tell me everything, but what I did get out of him was that he doesn't think the damage is permanent. It's going to take time… it might set your rehab back anywhere up to six months… but it should heal, Bobby."

The sigh that escaped him was one of pure relief. A moment later, he reached up tentatively, and his fingers brushed over the surface of gauze padding that covered the right side of his face and head.

"Don't touch it," she murmured, gently pushing his hand back down.

"What is it…?" he asked, sounding confused again.

"You don't remember?"

"Alex, I don't remember anything much after I tackled Graham."

"Well, bear in mind then that I'm recounting Jack's version of events. He said that when he reached the two of you, Graham attacked him… That's when he was stabbed. He said you managed to pull Graham off him and in the process of doing that, Graham got you across the side of your face with his knife."

"Where's Graham now?"

"In another wing here in the hospital, under very heavy police guard. Not that that matters. He's not going to want to be getting up anytime soon."

Bobby watched her curiously.

"Where did you shoot him?"

"In the leg, but that's not what I mean. When you were fighting with Graham that last time, apparently Jack picked up a branch, and whacked Graham in the head with it. The guy's got a contusion on his head nearly as big as a bowling ball, and a concussion to match."

Bobby couldn't help the smile that edged onto his face.

"Damn. Wish I could remember."

"I know," Alex agreed wistfully. "It would have been worth seeing."

A companionable silence settled for a while before Bobby spoke again.

"Deakins is really going to be all right?"

Alex smiled.

"He's going to be fine, Bobby. Well, eventually, anyway."

"Have you seen him yet?"

She nodded. "Yes, a few hours ago. He's in a fair bit of pain, but he's glad to be alive. And he said that since we saved his life, he'll try to overlook the fact that we surrendered our weapons to a psychopathic serial killer when he submits his report."

Bobby stared at her, not sure whether to take her seriously or not. The twinkle in her eyes a moment later, and the quirk of her lips as she struggled not to laugh gave him the answer he was looking for.

"Don't do that to me, Alex," he muttered as she laughed.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. Seriously, when I left him he was talking to Mullett about recommending you, me and Jack for bravery awards."

"Not interested," Bobby mumbled, his eyes growing heavy as exhaustion started to take hold once more. "Just happy to return the favour…"

Alex smiled to herself as Bobby slipped once more into a peaceful slumber. She was thankful he'd finally woken up, but she was equally glad he was able to find rest away from the pain of his injuries. Still smiling, she leaned over and allowed her lips to brush over his in a feather-light kiss.

"Now, if I'd been Mr Mullett or someone else, you might have had some serious explaining to do."

Alex looked around, and smiled warmly as Jack walked in. His left arm was in a sling to keep as much pressure as possible off his injured shoulder, and his shirt looked a little tight with the gauze and bandages protecting the laceration across his chest, but otherwise he looked none the worse for wear.

"Just as well I don't have to answer to Mr Mullett, then, isn't it?" she shot back. Jack chuckled.

"Lucky for you. How's he doing, then?"

"He woke up for a few minutes just before you came in. He's going to be okay, Jack."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jack said sincerely. "He wasn't too stressed out about his leg?"

Her smile faded.

"I told him the doctors said it would heal."

Jack raised an eyebrow, drawing a guilty look from her.

"I'm sorry," she said defensively, "but I couldn't see the point in telling him straight out that he might always need the leg brace and cane to be able to walk. Not when he'd only just woken up."

"He won't appreciate you lying to him," Jack pointed out gently. Alex looked away, tears flooding her eyes.

"He'll have to deal with it soon enough. Doesn't he deserve to have a little bit of peace?"

"Of course he does," Jack murmured apologetically. "You both do. Tell me, Alex, did you get any sleep at all last night?"

She turned back to him slowly, her eyes red with shed tears.

"You mean after having to explain what happened five times over? Not really, no."

"All right, then. Why don't you let me take you back to the house, and you can get some rest. Don't worry about Bobby, he'll be fine."

Alex shot Jack a look that spoke in volumes, but he didn't back down.

"Bobby is safe, Alex. So is your captain. David Graham isn't leaving his bed for any reason. It's time to ease off."

She looked back at her sleeping partner for a long moment, then reluctantly conceded.

"Okay."

* * *

When Alex returned to the hospital the following morning, she felt a hundred percent on what she'd been the night before. She entered the hospital alone, Jack having dropped her off on his way into CID. Little though he liked it, he had to make an official report on what had gone on in their encounter with Graham.

Although, he'd commented dryly to Alex, for once Mullett was being uncharacteristically supportive, encouraging Jack to be straight-forward and not 'tweak' anything in his report just to please the bureaucrats.

'_Damn it, Jack, you stopped a serial killer. Forget the politicians. Just tell it how it happened._'

Alex smiled a little as she rode the lift up to ICU. She was going to miss Jack. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to convince him to come to New York in the not too distant future…

She rounded the corner and walked into Bobby's room, only to be brought up short in the doorway. Goren was awake, and the bed had been raised sufficiently so that he was able to sit up. What brought her to a standstill, though, was the look on her partner's face. He looked at her as she came in, then away again, but he wasn't quick enough that she missed seeing the tears that streaked his cheeks. Feeling a sickening chill deep in her gut, Alex hurried over to the bedside.

"Bobby? What's wrong?"

He didn't look at her, and didn't speak immediately. She was about to try again when he spoke softly, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"Why did you lie to me?"

Alex felt her stomach roll unpleasantly. She knew instantly what he was talking about, and didn't insult him by bothering to ask him to clarify.

"You talked to the doctor?"

"He said I have approximately a twenty percent chance of being able to eventually walk again without any sort of support."

She shut her eyes, feeling thoroughly sick now.

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"So am I."

She stood in silence for nearly a minute, trying to work out what she could possibly say to recover the ground she seemed to have lost with him.

"I know…" she said finally, softly. "I know I shouldn't have lied about it… This is probably going to seem really lame, but you'd only just woken up… You were still pretty groggy… I just didn't think you should have to deal with that straight away. I know I shouldn't have said it'd be all right, but I just didn't stop to think about what I was saying."

He glanced at her, just briefly, before looking away again.

"I felt like an idiot… when the doctor told me."

"I'm sorry," she said again miserably.

"Could you leave me alone, please?"

Alex jerked a little, stung. As much as she knew she deserved it, it still hurt that he was pushing her away. She hesitated, then took a slow step away from the bed.

"If… If that's what you want."

He didn't answer, didn't spare her another look. Fighting back the threat of tears, Alex turned slowly and started towards the door. She paused once more in the doorway, looking back at Bobby. He hadn't moved, except for…

Her well-trained eyes picked the slightest of shudders through his large frame. A second later she'd made her decision and, knowing she risked invoking his anger, Alex walked back to the bedside.

"Bobby, look at me."

He started to look at her, purely as a reflexive response to the non-nonsense tone of voice she was using. As he started to look away again, though, she reached out with her right hand, and laid her palm to his cheek, drawing his face back around to look at her.

"Don't you turn away from me, Bobby Goren," she admonished him gently. "Now, I know I screwed up, but I also know you're usually more understanding than this. So how about you try telling me what it is that you're _really_ upset about?"

He winced a little, and tried once more to turn away, but she refused to let him.

"I… I'm going to lose my job," he said finally, his voice shaking very slightly. She regarded him thoughtfully.

"Why do you think that?"

A bitter look flickered in his brown eyes.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" he snapped, but she didn't flinch away from him, instead waiting patiently for him to answer her question. A moment later, his shoulders slumped in defeat and he spoke miserably.

"There's no way they'll let me stay on the Force now. Not when I can't walk."

"Who is 'they'?" she asked. "The Chief of Detectives? The Commissioner? The Mayor?"

"All of the above," he said glumly.

Alex withheld a sigh, not caring to aggravate him any further.

"Bobby, out of those three, the only one who is a genuine jerk is the Chief of Detectives."

He looked at her sceptically. "You're saying the Mayor _isn't_ a jerk?"

She couldn't hold back the hint of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "He's a politician, Bobby. So is the Commissioner. In case you'd forgotten, you and I are still the poster boy and girl for the Department's Public Relations Office. Neither the Commissioner, nor the Mayor are going to give you the boot on the say-so of the Chief of Detectives. The Commissioner knows you're too valuable a cop, and the Mayor knows you're too valuable a publicity tool. Sorry if that sounds crude, but it's true. But if you're still worried that you might be fired on the say-so of the Chief of Detectives alone, then let me put it into perspective for you with just three words. Captain James Deakins."

He stared at her wordlessly, his face a blank slate. Alex did sigh, then.

"After everything that's happened, do you really think Deakins would be willing to let you go as easily as that? He won't, Bobby. He'll fight tooth and nail for both of us now. The Chief of Detectives doesn't stand a chance. Deakins will tear him apart if he tries to oust either one of us."

Bobby stared at her miserably, and though he said nothing, the tears that worked their way out of his eyes spoke in volumes. Alex finally let her hand drop from his cheek, and instead took hold of his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"What is it? Talk to me, Bobby."

He spoke tentatively, and his voice wavered dangerously as he struggled to put his thoughts and feelings into words.

"All… All I want is for it to stop hurting. Now they tell me it might never stop hurting. I… I just don't know if I can cope with this kind of pain for the rest of my life."

Fresh tears filled her own eyes as her heart broke for him.

Releasing his hand, she slipped her good back up behind his neck and gently drew him down until his head rested on her shoulder. From there, she slid her right arm around him as best as she could, silently cursing the plaster on her left arm that kept her from wrapping both arms around him.

"I won't make guesses at what's going to happen," she murmured. "But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you quit. Do you hear me, Detective? You're my partner, and I don't want anyone else."

He shuddered against her, and she felt the material of her top dampen from his tears. The last time she'd seen him cry openly had been in a hospital room similar to this one. Then, she'd been able to do little but offer superficial comfort. Then, she'd had to leave him knowing she'd done nothing to help ease the pain and misery that he was suffering. She'd be damned if she was going to let that happen again.

"Listen to me, Bobby. You say the doctor told you there was a twenty percent chance of a full recovery? Then start redirecting that pig-headedness of yours, you big oaf. Do the right thing by yourself, keep working at it, and don't quit! So you might be in that brace a lot longer than you hoped. Just don't give up, okay? Don't quit, and eventually it'll come good again. You got it?"

Slowly, he drew back from her and for a long moment they simply stared at each other. Then, when Bobby finally spoke it was with more than a hint of incredulity.

"Big oaf?"

She grinned at him, then, silently thankful to see a spark of life back in his eyes.

"Would you prefer 'big lug'?"

He smiled back at her, then, a small but genuine smile.

"Thanks, Alex. I… I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," she murmured, pulling him back in for another hug. "I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you before. I just don't want you to quit on me."

He drew back from her again, smiling more openly.

"I won't quit on you… on one condition."

She raised an eyebrow at him bemusedly.

"Oh? What condition would that be?"

"I get payback for you shooting me."

Alex grimaced a little. It was bad enough knowing she had shot her partner, even if it had been inadvertently, and once word got out back home, it was something she would probably never live down. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what sort of payback he had in mind for her right now. She conceded reluctantly, though, if only out of guilt.

"Okay… What do you want…"

She barely got the words out before he ducked in, with surprising agility considering the bullet wound in his side, and kissed her firmly but chastely on the lips.

Alex blinked in astonishment as he pulled back from her, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Well… Thank God Deakins has his own room," she said finally, with a wry smile. "Because there's no way we could explain _that_ one."

* * *

_tbc_


	13. Epilogue: Going Home

A/N: _Sorry for the time I've taken to get this posted. I had a bad fall a week ago, and have not had access to an internet-enabled computer all this time. Imagine the reading I have to catch up on… Anyway, here is the epilogue. I'm toying with a little post-script that I might tack on to the end of this story, but this is the official finish._

_

* * *

_

_Two weeks later_

"Finally going home," Alex murmured as she sank into her seat in the business class section of the plane. Deakins smiled.

"Relieved?"

She groaned faintly.

"That's an understatement. Two days of work, and then two weeks in hospital? Not exactly my idea of a thrilling time."

"That's rich," Bobby retorted, "considering you're the only one who _didn't_ have to stay in hospital."

"Don't give me attitude," she threw back at him. "Just because the ambulance paramedics wouldn't let you walk. You know damned well you're not supposed to putting too much stress on that leg just yet."

"I didn't need the damn wheelchair," he growled, noticeably red-faced. "I have crutches. I could have walked. It's bad enough being treated like an invalid to start with…"

Alex snorted.

"What, are you worried that the ladies won't throw themselves at you because you have to be chauffeured around in the wheelchair?"

Bobby promptly went beet red, much to the amusement of both Alex and Deakins. Alex stared at him incredulously.

"You've got to be kidding me, Bobby! Are you blind, or something? There were at least five female attendants back at check in who would have been more than happy to pamper you."

Bobby said nothing, staring intently at the floor in front of him as he tried, too late, to hide his acute embarrassment.

"Leave him alone, Alex," Deakins said, though he couldn't keep the grin off his own face. "It isn't his fault that he's the kind of guy that women like to baby."

Bobby glared at Deakins, then. "Just wait till your first physio session…"

Deakins laughed softly.

"Careful, Bobby. Or I might arrange for us to share a room when we get to St Clare's."

Bobby smirked at the threat. "Careful, Captain. I might agree to that."

"Ugh," Alex interjected. "You two as roomies? I pity the nursing staff."

Bobby and Deakins exchanged rueful smiles over Alex's head. The fact was that both men had some serious rehabilitation time to look forward to. On arrival back in New York, rather than going home, there would be an ambulance waiting to transport both of them straight to St Clare's, to the rehab wing.

Deakins had started to regain movement and sensation in his legs approximately a week ago, but he was not strong enough to be able to walk. The doctors at Denton Hospital had estimated it might take him a month or two of intensive rehab to recover to full strength and mobility.

Bobby, on the other hand, had finally had some good news himself. X-rays and scans done on his leg just a few days ago had suggested that the damage done by David Graham was not as bad as the doctors had first believed. Though the doctors at St Clare's in New York still needed to run their own tests, the odds were now good that he would not be left crippled after all.

He was still faced with another probable twelve months or more of ongoing rehabilitation and physio, but the appearance of a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel had buoyed him considerably. As a result, their farewell from Denton had been considerably more cheerful than it might have been if they had left a week earlier.

Only the day before, Deakins had been moved from his room into the gym that was allocated for use by the rehab ward, for what he had thought was going to be the first of many sessions aimed at getting him back on his feet. Instead, he'd been startled and embarrassed to find all the CID officers who had been involved in the Graham case waiting there, clapping enthusiastically as he was wheeled in. Alex was saved the embarrassment, having already arrived there with Jack, but it was with some small satisfaction that he watched Bobby suffer the same discomfort when he, too, was delivered to the gym a few minutes later.

The farewell party had been relatively low key, but in the end greatly appreciated by all three of them. Mullett had declined to make any sort of speech, much to everyone's relief, but Jack issued a few gruff words of thanks to their American colleagues for the help they'd given in stopping a callous killer, ending with an open invitation for them to return any time, 'and hopefully they'd see more than just the inside of the local hospital'. Laughter was had all round at the last comment, even from Bobby who by then was visibly showing signs of pain and exhaustion.

Later on, though, when everyone else had left and only Jack and Mullett remained, the tone turned serious.

"We really are truly grateful," Mullett told them sincerely. "God knows how long it might have been before we… as you say, got a break."

"Thank Graham for that," Bobby said ruefully. "If he hadn't sent me that email, we would never have known what was happening here."

Mullett smiled in mild amusement. "I'll be sure to do that. I am sorry you were all injured, though. And if there is anything at all I can do, such as sending a report to your superiors, please let me know."

Deakins nodded. "We appreciate the offer, but just for the moment we'll wait and see what sort of a reception is waiting for us when we get home. If we need the help, I'll certainly let you know."

And so it had gone. Mullett had eventually excused himself, leaving only Jack behind.

"I imagine you're all quite ready to go home by now," Jack said, at a momentary loss for anything else to say. Deakins nodded, thinking first and foremost of his wife. It had only been after a long phone conversation that involved multiple reassurances from himself to her that had prevented her from getting on a plane and flying straight to England. Not that he hadn't wanted her with him, but he knew he was going to be all right, and he honestly believed it better for her to wait, and be there to meet him when he got home.

Alex had answered Jack's query with a nod as well, but Bobby had been a little more hesitant in his answer. Both Deakins and Alex knew why. For Bobby, going home meant another potentially lengthy stay in the rehabilitation wing of St Clare's, depending on just how serious the new injuries to his leg really were. It was not something he was looking forward to in the slightest and it had less to do with the food than the company – or lack thereof.

"You know," Jack commented, his sharp eyes noting the gloomy expression on the detective's face, "I was just issued an email address by the Department four or five weeks ago. I'm still getting used to all this new technology, of course, but in all this… _excitement_, I forgot all about it. Now, as much as I'd love to come and visit you all in New York, I'm not quite sure how soon that's likely to happen, so perhaps we can… what is it they say… swap addresses, and keep in touch that way? I'm sure your Department would be generous enough to give you the use of a laptop computer while you're in hospital, Bobby."

Deakins laughed. "I think that can be arranged."

The look on Bobby's face had said it all, embarrassed but appreciative of Jack's obvious efforts.

The next day, Jack had arrived at the hospital along with George Toolan and Hazel Wallace, and the three detectives had provided an escort from the hospital to Denton Airport, and through to their gate of departure. Farewells had been cheerful, but swift – the crew had wanted to board the three of them ahead of the rest of the passengers in order to ensure both seats and comfort.

Then, finally, they had been settled into their seats on the plane, ready to begin the final stage of their journey home.

"You still haven't given me an explanation, you know."

Bobby and Alex looked at Deakins questioningly.

"An explanation for what?" Alex asked, genuinely confused. Deakins looked from one to the other, a familiar glint in his eyes.

"The beds in your hotel room, and why only one of them had been slept in," Deakins answered bluntly. Both detectives reddened noticeably, and Deakins couldn't conceal a grin. "You thought I'd just forget about it?"

"In all honesty," Bobby said ruefully, "_we_ forgot about it. Do you really want to know?"

Deakins felt his smile fade as he looked at the two of them. Did he? As amusing as it seemed on the surface, Deakins guessed that it probably stemmed back to one of their many traumatic experiences on Gore Mountain – one that they had yet to talk about to anyone else. So did he really want to know…?

"It's up to you," he said finally. "If you don't want to talk about it, I'll accept that."

Bobby and Alex looked sideways at each other. Bobby finally spoke in a markedly subdued tone.

"It goes back to that night on the mountain… after we found ourselves back at Mathers' cabin."

Bobby paused, half expecting Deakins to speak, but the captain stayed silent. He went on quietly, telling the story in an unsteady voice.

"We didn't know whose cabin it was at first. We went in because we needed shelter… It was getting dark and cold…"

"We kind of hoped to find something to eat, too," Alex added, and Deakins smiled in sympathy. He recalled that at that point, neither Bobby nor Alex had eaten anything for three days. Naturally they would have been painfully hungry by then.

"We realised where we were when we found what was left of our jackets and shoes in that suitcase under the bed," Bobby said. "We had a choice then. Either leave, and risk freezing to death outside…"

"Or stay, and risk meeting up with Mathers again," Alex concluded.

"We decided to stay," Bobby explained, "which you know. At first, we tried taking it in turns… Alex started off keeping watch, and I tried to get some rest… But it got really cold really fast, and the only thing even remotely like a blanket in the whole cabin was that throw rug on the floor."

Deakins nodded, recalling the rug from the hours he had spent in the cabin.

"That thing wouldn't have kept anyone warm," he murmured. Alex smiled wryly.

"That's what I said. Then Bobby suggested… No, let me rephrase that. He got embarrassed and started stuttering all over the place. I eventually had to say it for him… that we might be able to keep from freezing if we cuddled together under the rug."

Deakins could swear Bobby had gone red yet again, but the big detective nodded in confirmation of Alex's words despite any likely embarrassment.

"So… that's what we did," he said softly. "But… It's kind of hard to explain. Lying together like we did… It didn't just help to warm us up again. It, um…"

"It helped you to feel safe," Deakins said gently when Bobby faltered, searching helplessly for words that wouldn't come. The two detectives looked at each other, momentarily caught up in their memories. Eventually, Bobby answered with a nod.

"Yeah. It did."

"So that night in the hotel…?"

"The night before," Alex explained. "We started off in separate beds, but I… I had a bad nightmare. So we ended up in the big bed together. The next night neither of us even thought about it. We just got into the same bed."

Deakins regarded them thoughtfully.

"No nightmares?"

"No nightmares," Bobby confirmed, "the incident with Adrian Bailey notwithstanding."

Deakins sighed softly, then.

"I think I understand. I promise you both, this won't go past me."

"You understand, we're not a couple," Alex said, and Bobby nodded in agreement. "There's nothing like that in our relationship."

"I understand," Deakins assured them. "I can see it for myself. Anyone can, if they look properly. Ever since you two went back to work… You've behaved more like twins than anything else. I wouldn't want to see that broken up."

The relief on both Bobby and Alex's faces was palpable, and brought a grin back to Deakins' face, if only briefly.

"Can I ask you both something? You don't have to answer me if you don't want to."

"I hate questions that start like that," Alex growled.

"What is it?" Bobby asked.

"When you were on the mountain together… How scared were you really?"

For nearly a minute, neither Bobby nor Alex spoke. Alex continued to watch Bobby who, in turn, stared down at his broken leg. Just when Deakins was about to give up on either of them answering, Bobby spoke.

"The last time I felt as frightened as I did when we were on that mountain… was when my mom first started having episodes."

Deakins felt his stomach turn at the honest admission.

"But at the same time," Bobby went on, "as terrifying as it was, it never felt hopeless… because I wasn't alone."

The captain looked at Alex, who was watching Bobby with an encouraging smile. She looked back at him, still smiling.

"That's the mistake that Erik Mathers made, and it's one of the things that saved our lives. He left us together."

Deakins nodded his agreement.

"I said pretty much the same thing to your father, Alex."

She looked at him, confused.

"When was this?'

"After you were both airlifted back to New York," Deakins answered quietly, recalling the sobering memories with some reluctance. "You'd both not long come out of surgery… I was sitting in Bobby's room, and your father came in to let me know you'd woken up. He said something like, he'd known that as long as you were together, we had a chance of seeing you both again alive. I agreed with him, and that's when I said that Mathers made his biggest mistake in leaving you together."

Silence met Deakins' words, and none of them spoke for a while as the plane taxied onto the runway, and finally took off. Minutes passed as the jet climbed into the sky, and only as it finally levelled out did they speak again.

"I never did thank you for that," Bobby said softly. It was Deakins' turn to look puzzled.

"Thank me for what?"

"For staying with me… in the hospital," Bobby elaborated with some awkwardness. Understanding dawned on Deakins' face.

"Oh. Well, Alex had her family… I guess after everything you'd already been through… I just didn't want you waking up alone."

Bobby nodded wordlessly. He appreciated that more than Deakins could possibly know. The truth was, had he woken up alone, with no one to offer him any sort of reassurance, God only knew what state he would have gotten himself into.

"Well…" he stammered finally, "I just wanted to say… Thankyou."

Deakins smiled faintly.

"You're welcome, Bobby."

* * *

Deakins sighed as exhaustion finally forced him to put aside the notebook he'd been writing in. Though he hadn't been required to do anything other than make a formal statement back in Denton regarding his abduction by David Graham, he knew his own superiors would expect a full report from him upon their return to New York. He'd succeeded in writing out half a dozen, double-sided A4 sheets before fatigue finally got the better of him.

"Can I put that away for you, Captain?"

It was the stewardess assigned to take care of the business class passengers, a relatively easy task given that in addition to himself, Bobby and Alex, there were only four other passengers in the section. He favoured her with a grateful smile, and allowed her to take the notebook from him and store it away in the overhead compartment with his cabin luggage.

"Can I get you a drink?" she offered, and he reluctantly declined. As much as he would have loved a whisky, the strict non-alcohol rules that he had needed to enforce with Bobby and Alex at the start of their trip now applied to him as well.

"No thanks. A pillow and blanket would be good, though."

While she got the requested items, Deakins looked across at his two detectives and had to smile at the sight that met him. They had both reclined their seats as far as possible, and Alex was turned on her side towards Bobby, cuddling in against him across the minor barrier of the armrests with her head resting on his left shoulder. His left arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, holding her close. Both were sleeping peacefully, and probably had been for a while.

"They make a nice-looking couple, don't they?"

Deakins looked around, and smiled at the stewardess as she helped him to recline the seat and drape the blanket over him.

"Yes," he murmured, knowing his thoughts were on a completely different track to the stewardess. "They do."

Still smiling to himself, Deakins settled down in the comfort of the reclined seat, and slept.

* * *

_Fin... Maybe..._


End file.
